A Man Of Honor, a Woman of Courage, and a Timeless Love
by ChainOfPaperclips
Summary: Killian reveals the information about Neal's survival in order to prove himself an honorable man, making an enormous sacrifice in the process. Forced to face her feelings in the face of this, Emma must gather all the courage she possesses to win back the love of her amnesiac pirate in the hopes that they can finally find a happy ending. Rated T for some mild to moderate language.
1. Chapter 1

Killian watched David retreat from the campfire with Mary-Margaret at last, their hands entwined, whispering to each other-of what, he could not imagine, nor did he care. Regina had retired some time before, and he had been waiting for what felt like an eternity for Emma's parents to take their own leave. David shot him one glance over his shoulder, and Killian waved his hook in sarcastic acknowledgment, unable to help himself. The prince seemed to frown, although the expression was so fleeting Killian could not be certain. Shrugging a shoulder, he turned his attention back to the crackling fire in front of him. David had little to worry about now. Pan had seen to that.

Eyeing Emma surreptitiously, he struggled to utter the words that he had contemplated all day. Reaching instinctively for his flask of rum, he uncorked the bottle and lifted it to his lips. Hesitating as it came into focus again, he lowered the bottle and replaced the cork. Damn Pan, he thought, stashing the bottle back inside his coat. Damn him for everything.

"Someone spit in your rum?"

He looked up, startled to hear Emma speak. Since their arrival in Neverland, he had been the one to initiate most of their conversations. At any other time, under any other circumstances, he would have welcomed such initiative on her part. Now it only frustrated him, for any interest she might have developed in getting to know him in the future would be dashed the moment he related to her the news that Pan had dropped into his lap regarding Neal.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, trying to recover his wits.

"Your rum. I've never seen you take it out and put it back again without taking a drink. You act like someone spit in it when you passed it around today."

"Ah," he said, leaning back slightly as he shifted position, "well perhaps I've been a bit distracted."

A corner of her mouth quirked upward into the ghost of a smile. Gods, that smile. Even a fraction of it was dazzling in its brilliance. And worth more than all the treasure the giant had stored in his lair. "Is that a compliment?"

His heart skipped a beat. Was Emma flirting with him? No, it couldn't be. But then, hadn't she responded in kind to his flirting with that kiss earlier today? She had sworn it was a one-time thing, the implication being that it was solely as a thank you for saving David's life, but Killian had remained hopeful that it might develop into something more significant, whatever Emma insisted. Until Pan had appeared again, that is. Cursing the evil little shit in his mind, he steeled himself for what must be done.

"Don't take this the wrong way, love," he began, "but I've been having a think about something else." The soft smile evaporated, and his heart shuddered at the thought of what he must say next. "After you left, Pan appeared."

She stiffened visibly at the mention of her son's captor. "What did he want?"

He inhaled deeply. "He told me Neal is still alive, Emma. And he is here on this island."

Her expression became angry. "Is this about the kiss?" she hissed. "Are you playing games because you're angry that it was a one-time thing?"

"And what would I have to gain by such a thing?" he replied, remaining calm by sheer force of will, when all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and prove to her that the last thing he wanted to do was play games that would hurt her. "I'm telling you the truth."

"He's lying," she argued, taking another tack.

"No," he said, "I've known Pan a long time. He never lies. He might twist, bend, or mangle the truth in pursuit of his own goals, but he doesn't lie. If he says Neal is alive and on this island, then you can guarantee that he is."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Wouldn't you want to know?" he countered.

She was silent for a long time after that, staring into the fire as if her life depended on remaining riveted to this one small detail. Her expression was difficult to read, but Killian almost thought she looked frightened. "We have to get him back," she said at last, her expression never wavering from the fire for a moment.

"Aye," he answered, disappointed that she refused to look at him. The fact that he had expected Emma to distance herself from him all the more, to restore the walls he had been chipping at so relentlessly, did not make it hurt any less. "We will."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: First of all, for those who have read my story, and/or read reviews, thank you very much! A couple of things: First, I intended to get this next chapter out much sooner than I did, but I got stuck trying to figure out the logistics of the ambush, but then I realized that they didn't *need* to ambush anyone, because the answer was right there all along! So sorry about the delay. Second, I was originally going to write this fic solely from Hook's POV, but I got to thinking about it, and I decided to alternate chapters between Hook and Emma's POVs, because I think it's important not only to show Hook proving himself more and more as a man of honor, but also to see that growth and realization from Emma's viewpoint.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this latest chapter!

Emma crouched in the foliage, staring at the two cages that hung suspended from the canopy of trees above, waiting to take action. She hadn't slept a wink the night before, plagued by the tangle of thoughts and emotions that Hook's revelation had instigated. How could Neal possibly be in Neverland? Surely Hook had been mistaken; Pan had tricked him somehow, despite their past association, whatever it was. Neal couldn't be alive. It couldn't be him there in one of the cages. It couldn't, because she simply could not deal with that right now, on top of everything else. This had to be a trap. She had tried to convince Mary-Margaret and David of it, after she'd shared the startling information with them this morning. Pan simply wanted to trick them, to keep them going on a wild goose chase. It was a distraction, that was all. Something else to keep her from her son.

Surprisingly, Emma had found an ally in Regina in her assessment of the situation. Whatever their differences-and they were vast-on the point of rescuing Henry, they agreed. Henry needed to be their priority. Hook had, for reasons Emma could not fathom at all, sided with her parents. Neal was as familiar with Pan as he was, the pirate argued, perhaps more so. And he would therefore have valuable information and insights into Pan and his weaknesses. Neal, Hook insisted, was an ally they needed, if they wanted to recover Henry...even if it meant playing into Pan's game for a short time.

In the end, Emma and Regina could do little else but agree.

Irritated again at Hook siding against her-Just what the hell was he playing at with all of this, anyway?-she gripped the hilt of her sword more tightly. What insights into Pan could Neal offer that Hook already didn't? And why the hell wasn't she happier at the thought of being reunited with Neal? She loved him; she'd always loved him. As she had admitted to her parents in a moment of overwhelming emotion and stress, she had never stopped. So why didn't she want it to be him inside one of those cages? Neal loved her. She loved him. Now they might be reunited, if Pan's information to Hook had been accurate. They had the chance to start again with each other.

But did she want to start a relationship with Neal all over again? Emma pondered this question while she waited, mentally ticking off all the reasons she should consider giving him another chance. There were more than she'd thought there would be, for all the pain and bitterness she felt toward him. But were they enough to outweigh the negative points against him?

Leaving her alone and pregnant, serving the jail time that should have been his, and all on the say-so of a wooden puppet that was, by all story accounts, a well-known liar? That alone was bad enough, but-

Branches snapped and shifted as the dark-haired lost boy wandered into view. "All right, I'm here," he said with a sullen voice. "What do you want?"

Regina stepped directly in front of the boy, her smile predatory. "Well considering our location, I think you know exactly what we want. So get to it."

"Get it yourself, if you're so powerful," Devin sneered as Emma slinked forward into his view, her cutlass drawn. Mary Margaret stepped out of the brush behind the lost boy, her bow drawn, an arrow nocked and pointed straight at his chest. David and Hook appeared, too, flanking the boy with their own weapons drawn.

"And alert Pan to our plans?" Regina arched an eyebrow. "Oh surely you don't think we're that stupid," she retorted with a disdainful look. She reached into the pouch that held his heart. "Now, you can open those cages, or you can writhe on the ground in agony. Your choice," she said, holding up his heart with a smile that was downright macabre in its very brilliance.

The boy twisted slightly, eyeing all of them in turn. Birds chirruped overhead, competing with the insects for dominance of sound within the jungle. Emma smacked a bug crawling across her arm and waited for his answer.

"I'd do what she wants, if I were you, mate," Hook advised, as the boy's gaze settled on him in particular. "I understand she fed dozens of children to a blind witch just trying to retrieve an apple. Imagine what she'll do to you to retrieve her son."

Emma blinked. Where the hell had Hook heard that story? But even as she wondered, the answer was too obvious to ignore. Regina. She was the only one who could have told him. But when? And why? Frowning, she glanced from Hook to Regina and narrowed her eyes. When had they become buddies?

"If I do this for you and risk my life, I want something in return this time."

"No," Regina answered instantly, even as Mary-Margaret replied, "What do you want?"

The two women glared at each other over the boy's head.

"Absolutely not," Regina said emphatically. "I don't negotiate with the people who kidnapped my son."

"But if we can resolve this peacefully-" Mary-Margaret began.

"Oh save it!" the queen snapped. "This is Neverland, not the Enchanted Forest. Your cloying optimism and naive trust aren't going to work in your favor, here. These people may look like children, but they are savage killers. He is trying to trick us. This is a trap."

"Regina is right," Emma spoke up. "We have absolutely no reason to trust any of them."

"Well," the queen said caustically, "someone with sense. Maybe there's hope for you after all." She looked at Mary-Margaret. "Wish I could say the same for others."

Mary-Margaret's expression was affronted. "How dare-"

"Enough," Hook interrupted. He leaned against a tree, shadows obscuring the top portion of his face. "The more time that we waste arguing, the stronger Pan's hold over Henry grows." Silence greeted this assessment for several moments as they all realized the truth of his words. The buzzing of insects grew louder. He spoke again, "What do you say, Emma? What course do we plot?"

Conflicted, she glanced from Regina to Mary-Margaret. Although the queen's estimation of the situation made the most sense, given what they knew of Pan and his Lost Boys from their actions thus far, she hated to set the precedent for using dark magic, fear, and intimidation to get Henry back. And yet, there was a part of her, a part from her past that she tried to keep locked away, that would do anything to get Henry back. Even selling her soul to Pan himself, if that was what it took to gain Henry's freedom from Neverland.

To which part of herself should she listen?

"We're waiting, Savior," Regina snapped.

Ignoring her, Emma turned to Hook. "You know Pan and the Lost Boys better than anyone here. And I can tell by the way he looks at you, that you two have more than a passing familiarity with each other. What do you think?"

He scratched his chin with the tip of his hook. The gesture was casual, but Emma caught the way Devin's eyes widened slightly when he did it. "Hear him out," Hook answered. "If you don't like his terms, or you simply can't trust him, Regina can sort the situation out for us." He smiled brightly at the evil queen. "She's rather talented like that."

Frowning again, Emma looked from the queen to the pirate. "What do you want?" she said hoarsely, turning to the Lost Boy.

"A home," he answered.

"I thought you said that all the Lost Boys were here by choice," Regina said, placing a hand on her hip. She gazed at the boy with unguarded suspicion. "That each of you wanted to be here."

"We are," he answered. "But not all of us want to be here because we care for Pan's company."

Emma snorted. The idea that anyone could like Pan's company was so rich, it might have been hysterical under less dire circumstances.

"Go on," David encouraged, when Devin seemed hesitant to say more. "What's the real reason that you choose to be here?"

"Wendy," he whispered. "I stayed because of Wendy."

"As in...Wendy Darling?" Emma echoed. "Big-fan-of-Peter-Pan _Wendy_?"

Devin shook his head. "No. More like the other way around. Promise that you will get Wendy and me off the island and give us a home, and I will do as you ask."

"May I _remind_ you that you will do as we ask, anyway?" Regina said, crossing her arms. "You know, the whole crushing up your heart thing."

"Crush it if you like," he said, "but if you squeeze too much and kill me, Pan will know. And he will punish you, using Henry. That doesn't help you get those cages open, does it?"

"Boy," Hook said, "what are you playing at? What's your interest in this Wendy-girl? And why have I never heard of her before?"

The Lost Boy locked gazes with the pirate for a moment. "Will you do it or not?" he asked.

"We're hardly in any position to make promises about getting off the island when we can't do it without Pan's permission," David pointed out.

"Your Neal could get you off the island," the boy pointed out, looking at Emma. "I understand he's done it before. I free him, and you have the means to get off this island and take Wendy and me with you, after you rescue Henry."

"And just who is supposed to give you this home?" Emma wondered.

Mary-Margaret lowered her bow. "David?" she spoke up, looking at her husband. All eyes turned to the golden-haired prince.

His expression was startled. "I...well, uh-"

"I'll do it," Hook spoke up, shocking everyone. Emma stared. "At least until we return to Storybrooke, and they can find a more permanent family of their choosing."

"Why you?" David asked, recovering enough to speak again.

"Because we have a history together. I know him and what he's capable of." He looked at Devin with a hardened expression. "And he knows I don't need magic to make his life unpleasant if he double-crosses us." He lifted his hook to emphasize the point. "Do I, Tootles?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Tootles?" Emma echoed after a moment of stunned silence. Her brow furrowed as she absorbed this information, and she shook her head. Long, blonde hair swayed from side to side, and Killian's breath caught in his throat for a moment. Visions of that blonde hair being mussed in another heated kiss, or flung over heaving shoulders as he lowered her into his bed swam through his mind, and he shook his own head to clear it. Now was certainly not the time to indulge such fantasies.

Blinking rapidly, he managed, "Aye."

She groaned. "Unbelievable," she muttered as her parents moved closer to the lost boy and began speaking with him in low tones. Regina stalked over in hot pursuit, and Killian was glad for his own part that it was not a conversation in which he was involved. "Am I seriously the only one around here with a single, non-storybook identity?" She wiped at the beads of sweat on her forehead.

"No storybook identity? Are you sure about that, love?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps your story simply hasn't been told yet."

"Very funny," she glared.

He glanced over at Regina, Mary-Margaret, David, who were haggling over the final arrangements with the dark-haired lost boy. "He hasn't used the name for years," he offered. "Not since the magic left Neverland and warped Pan."

She tilted her head with a frown playing at the corners of her mouth. "Like you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know," she shrugged, slipping her hands into the back pockets of her trousers. Fascinated, he watched her movements with a keen eye, his mind edging back toward impossible, unfulfillable fantasy again. What would she feel like beneath his hand? Soft and warm, or hard and sultry? If he caressed her, would she-

"Your name," she continued, interrupting his thoughts again. "Killian. You don't use that anymore, either. "

He stared at her for a minute, conflicted. He wondered what he should tell her, or how much. Did any of it matter? In a matter of minutes, they would free Neal, and Emma's attention would be elsewhere. His life, his past...of what interest could it be to her after that?

It was for that reason, perhaps, above all others, that he said, "I always use my name, love. Just because I respond to "Hook" doesn't mean I favor the name."

Her green eyes glimmered with interest, and she took a step toward him. It was such a small step, he almost missed it. He wasn't even certain that she was aware of it, herself. He shifted against the tree he leaned against, uncertain.

"You don't like being called Hook?"

He considered the question, weighing it in his mind. "I suppose I did, once. For a long time, actually. The name reinforced my purpose in life, kept it at the forefront of my mind for three hundred years. And it took on a life and reputation of its own, which isn't a bad thing when you consider the role of villain that I'd taken on for myself. Saved me the headache of a lot of unnecessary fights when I had more important things to do as I plotted my revenge."

She opened her mouth to reply, but Mary-Margaret walked over and said breathlessly, "They're ready. Devin's going to open the cages."

"Oh. Thanks," Emma responded. "We'll be right over." She glanced over at him as Mary-Margaret returned to the others. "I-I guess we should, um..."

"After you, love," he said tonelessly, letting her fall into step in front of him. He followed, picking his way through the brush with care, one eye always scanning the area around Emma for any sign of Pan or his Lost Boys. He would gladly take an arrow and spare her the experience of being poisoned with the Dreamshade that her father had fallen victim to, if it would spare her the fate of being trapped on this godsforsaken island forever.

"All right," Emma said when they reached the others again, "so what's the deal? How do we get them open?" She tilted her head back, giving the cages a considering look.

"Magic," the lost boy answered. "That's what you need me for."

"I don't understand," Emma said. "Won't that draw Pan right to us? And why do we need you, then? Can't we just use Regina?"

"The cages require white magic to open them," Devin said with an expression that Killian knew was a shade too patient to be genuine. "Something your queen wouldn't know anything about."

Regina glared, and the lost boy smirked.

"So, what? Pan can't sense white magic or something? Why would the type of magic make any difference at all?" She glanced at Hook. "I thought you said all the magic left Neverland."

"Aye," he said, "it has. If Pan is using magic, he didn't get it from here. He must have another source, something that is not from this island." He gestured toward the two cages hanging above them, using his hook. "And I believe the answer to that source may be in one of those cages."

"None of this makes any sense," Emma protested. "We need white magic to open the cages, and Neverland is void of magic, but Pan just happens to have a source of magic to seal these cages to begin with?" She glared at Devin. "This smells like the worst kind of trap," she spat. "Regina, get his heart out! I want some real answers, and I want them now.

"Be happy to!" she responded with a bright smile, reaching for the satchel slung over her shoulders. "So. What shall we start with first?" she wondered conversationally. "A slow, steady squeeze, or a hard, crushing blow? I prefer the crushing blow, myself. What it lacks in finesse, it makes up for in results."

"This isn't a trap," the lost boy argued.

"Oh yeah?" David spoke up skeptically. "Then you had better start talking fast."

"It's Wendy," he muttered. "He gets the magic from her. That's part of the reason he's kept her around Neverland for so long. He makes her set the seal on the cages. He can't get in, because it isn't Neverland magic, but neither can anyone else. And it's white magic because that's all Wendy uses. She doesn't know any dark magic. Pan never lets her near anything that might corrupt her."

"I'm sensing a really sick and twisted backstory, here," Emma muttered. "If no one else can get in those cages because of the foreign white magic, how are you supposed to help? I thought you said you could open them."

"I can. Wendy trusts me. So does Pan. That's how I've been able to learn it from her. I'm not from Neverland, either. We knew each other in London, long before this all started. I was a friend of John's."

"As compelling as all this drama is," Regina interrupted sarcastically, "can we get started with all of this before Pan comes back and decides to move the cages? Or sends someone else to find out what happened to _him_?" She gestured toward the lost boy.

"She's right," Killian decided. Emma flashed him a strange look. "We'll have plenty of time to revisit the past aboard my ship, after we rescue Henry." He looked up at the cages, one of which held the man that had the power to take away his future, his hope, just after he'd discovered it again. He glanced at Emma. "Let's rescue your Neal."


	4. Chapter 4

Emma watched Devin approach the lowered cages, hoping they had not all fallen for some elaborate trap of Pan's. The last time she had seen Neal, he had fallen through a portal after sustaining a gunshot wound. She had thought him dead, and she had not even mourned him as she would have liked, amidst their mission to rescue her son. She felt guilty for that, and at the same time betrayed; he was not dead at all. Once again, Neal had hurt her, brought her pain. She knew it was unintentional. They had both assumed he would not make it; that was why they had so openly confessed their feelings to each other. But Emma wondered now if those feelings would be the same when she saw him face to face.

Devin knelt by the cage on the left. His actions were somewhat obscured from her vantage point, but from the way Regina watched him with laser precision as she hovered nearby, Emma knew that the evil queen was absorbing every word and action, probably as much to add the knowledge to her own magical repertoire as to ensure that he did not screw all of them over. And Hook, well...she doubted the Captain would suffer to see the lost boy deceive them either. She didn't know what to make of the veiled threats he had used to intimidate the lost boy, but she felt certain that, whatever his motives in taking charge of Devin and Wendy, she had the pirate's loyalty in helping her to recover her son.

The real question, of course, was why. What was his motivation? He had never shown any particular interest or concern for her son prior to Henry's kidnapping. Of course, Hook's entire focus after his arrival in Storybrooke had been on finding a way to wreak his revenge on Gold, but Emma found it difficult to imagine that Hook would have taken any real notice of her son if he had not been kidnapped. The pirate did not exactly strike her as the fatherly type. Still, what of this Milah person he had mentioned? They must have been serious, for him to have reacted the way he did when Emma had inquired about his tattoo. Had they never had any children?

_Click_. Emma felt the residual magic ripple through her as Devin unlocked the first cage and eased the door open. Nervous, she craned her neck to view the occupant inside, but the form that crawled out of the cage was taller, with much darker hair than Neal's. He wore a filthy, ragged shirt that Emma supposed might have been white many years ago, but was now only a dingy grey. His feet were bare, and the right knee of his black trousers had a long, uneven hole, as if he had ripped it on something sharp. If it had not been for the garish red belt he wore around his waist, Emma might have mistaken him for Neverland's resident homeless person.

Rubbing at his disheveled hair, the man's clear blue eyes lit up when he saw Hook. "Jones!" he cried, clapping the other pirate on the shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

"One might ask the same of you," Hook replied with a frown. "As I recall, I warned you to stay clear of the island and sail back the way you came, but it seems you didn't listen."

"Mermaids," the stranger said shortly. "Had to beach my ship, and a storm tore it apart on the rocks. Nowhere else to go but stay on shore."

"I gather you two know each other?" David said, looking from one to the other, as Devin began the process of opening the second cage.

"Yes," said the stranger, at the same time Hook replied, "Not especially."

"So which is it?" Mary-Margaret wanted to know. "And who are you?"

"Forgive me, my name is Eric," the man said with a formal bow that raised several eyebrows.

"Prince Eric?" Mary-Margaret said with a gasp, stepping forward. She circled the prince, staring at him as if she were seeing him in a new light. "Ariel's prince?"

"Ariel?" he echoed, looking at her sharply. "You know her?"

"Know her?" Mary-Margaret said with a delighted laugh, and a look of intense hope in her eyes. "We were friends. I was with her, I-"

_Click_. Magic rippled through Emma again, and she took a step backward as the door to the second cage swung open. Neal crawled out cautiously, looking disheveled, but not nearly as worse for the experience as Prince Eric. He straightened, taking in his surroundings, and noticed Emma. Before she could blink, she was engulfed in his strong arms, and he was saying things to her in whispered exclamations. Things she only half understood, but sensed to be affectionate and relieved.

"I'm glad you're alive," she managed, after he released her. Neal frowned, as if sensing that Emma did not wholly return his enthusiasm for their reunion. "How did you get here? We thought you were dead."

"Mulan and Aurora helped me," he said. "We traveled to my father's residence, and I used some of his things to travel here. I needed to get back to you and Henry."

"You were in the Enchanted Forest?" Mary-Margaret said. "How did you get there?"

"I'm not certain that I understand that myself," he admitted, "but I think it had something to do with my thoughts before I arrived there."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a long story," he said. "I would be happy to tell it you, but right now, we need to find a way to go get Henry."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Once again, thank you to everyone who has read and/or reviewed my story. I really appreciate it! This chapter is kind of long, but I needed to set up a few things for later on in the fic, as well as a tie-in story that I want to write, which takes place after Neverland, featuring Ariel and Eric. Thank you so much for your patience! **

Killian watched with disgust and no small amount of jealousy as Neal swept Emma into an embrace. _Why doesn't he just lift his leg and mark his bloody territory and have done with it?_ he thought darkly, turning away from the spectacle. Even as far back as he stood, Killian could see that Emma was uncomfortable with such an open display of Neal's affections. Was the man bloody blind, or did he simply not care?

He reached for his bottle of rum and noticed David eyeing him with a frown. Ignoring the prince, who seemed as if he wanted to say something, Killian took a drink as Eric stepped up beside him. "Tough break," the other man commiserated, nodding his head at the reunited couple. "Love isn't all it has cracked up to be."

Gods, were his feelings that bloody obvious to everyone? _Pathetic, Jones_, he berated himself, eyes sweeping the area. Thankfully, Regina and Mary-Margaret were conversing with Tootles again and had not noticed. For the moment.

He offered Eric a drink. "So it isn't."

Eric took the proffered drink and took a swig. "Good rum," he approved, handing the bottle back. Killian stored it away again. "So. What have you been up to since you left Neverland, Jones? Killed that crocodile yet?"

"No," he answered shortly. And though he had given it his best shot-quite literally, when he had shot Belle and knocked her over the town line, causing her to lose her identity for a time-his triumph over the crocodile had fallen flat. _Forget love, _he thought,_ revenge isn't all it has cracked up to be, either_.

And it was this realization, perhaps, that had not only enabled him to let go of his mission to make Rumplestiltskin's life a living hell, but to now accept his loss of Emma with grace. If she wanted to be with Baelfire-or Neal, or whomever the hell he was now-he would conduct himself as a gentleman and stand aside. Why torture himself or her by pressing unwanted attentions upon her?

_And Milah would want this_, he thought. She would want to see her Baelfire happy as much as Killian wanted to see Emma happy.

"Well," Eric said, "perhaps that's for the best."

"My, haven't we turned philosophical since I last saw you," Killian taunted.

"The last time I saw you, you and your crew raided my ship and made off with all the rum."

He smirked. "We were out of rum. Turns out you weren't."

"Oh, come off it, Jones, you-"

"Boys, I hate to interrupt this little reunion," David said, stepping up next to them, "but I need to have a word with Hook."

Eric arched an eyebrow. Killian nodded in reply to the silent query and then followed the Prince further into the jungle.

"What's this about, then, Dave?" he said, cutting to the point. "Hadn't we better be planning to find Henry, with the others?"

The other man tossed him a sword. "Here, make yourself useful," he said, gesturing up at the fruit trees that surrounded them.

Killian sighed. Placing the blade between his teeth, he sank his hook into the trunk of one of the trees and used it to give him traction for the climb.

"Why did you do it? Why tell Emma Neal is alive when you want her so badly for yourself? What did you hope to gain from that?"

_Bloody hell_, Killian thought, _I'm climbing a damned tree with a sword between my teeth, and Prince-Bloody-Charming, here, wants to talk about my intentions toward his daughter?_ He gave the prince a dark look, pulling himself farther up the tree toward the bright fruit.

"Perhaps," he said, removing the blade from his mouth when he found a branch that would support his weight while he harvested some of the food, "I hoped to gain satisfaction of showing good form. Pirates have their own code of honor, whatever you may believe, Dave."

"And it had nothing to do with your feelings for Emma?" David asked skeptically.

"I wouldn't say that," he said, tossing some of the fruit down toward David. The other man ducked, narrowly missing being hit by the fruit that went flying at his head. He picked it off the ground with a frown, placing it in the woven bag he'd brought with them. Killian chuckled to himself. "But I like the challenge of an even playing field," he said, selecting another bunch of fruit to harvest.

"You love her, don't you?" David said suddenly. "That's why you're doing all of this. Lending us your ship and coming with us to Neverland, saving my life, telling her about Neal...It all makes sense now."

Killian grimaced, glad that his face was obscured by the branches that surrounded him. "If it's all the same to you, mate, I'd rather just collect the fruit and get on with finding Pan, so we can get off this bloody island." He finished sawing through another bunch of fruit and tossed it down to the other man. "That should be enough. Any more, and it will spoil before we eat it all."

The prince was silent for a moment as he bagged the fruit. Hook placed the prince's blade between his teeth and began his descent down the tree. "I don't know what happened between Neal and Emma," David spoke up, "but she wasn't happy to see him. Whatever it was, it can't have been anything good, if she felt she needed to give Henry up for adoption." He shook his head. "As much as it pains me to say it, you, at least, seem to have her best interests at heart."

"Am I to take it that you are giving me your approval?" he replied sarcastically, landing lightly on his feet. He handed the prince his sword.

"No." David sheathed the weapon and hefted the sack of fruit over his shoulder. "I'm simply pointing out that you have the advantage."

_What the bloody hell?_ Killian thought, but David had already disappeared along the trail back to camp. If the prince hadn't been giving his approval, what the hell was the point of the conversation they had just had? And advantage or not, there was an entire history between Killian and Milah's son that nobody, save the two of them, knew anything about. Making a play for Emma would surely force them to revisit that unpleasant past with a vigor.

"Save your breath, Davy-boy," he muttered to himself, picking his way through the brush that concealed much of the trail, and strengthening his resolve to stand aside for Milah's boy, "save your breath."

When he returned to camp a short time later, Killian found Regina, Neal, Emma, and David poring over Pan's map and speaking in low tones about the potential success of a raid, with Tinkerbell's help._ Raid?_ Killian thought with a snort, walking past them. _Good bloody luck pulling that off and getting back out alive._ Neal echoed his thoughts with a vehement shake of his head, offering a counter plan whose finer points he didn't quite hear, but seemed to consist of drawing Pan away from the others to cut him off from any support and weaken him.

Killian, spying Mary-Margaret deep in conversation with Eric, leaned against a tree between the two groups. He wondered that it had not occurred to any of them yet to send a smaller group to retrieve Wendy and Tootles and take them back to the Jolly Roger, while the larger one dealt with Pan. Attempting to accomplish both objectives in one large group would be chaotic at best, and disastrous at worst. Better to send a one or two people to remove Wendy and Tootles from the others while Pan was distracted. Eric and Neal seemed the most likely candidates, as Pan wasn't yet aware of their release, but Neal was unlikely to agree to such a plan, and Killian couldn't blame him.

"...believe me," Snow was saying earnestly to a skeptical Eric," she wanted to go with you. But she hesitated because she was afraid you wouldn't accept her."

"Why not?" the dark-haired prince asked gruffly, his expression guarded.

Mary-Margaret opened her mouth as if she would have liked to explain, but then said, "I think she should tell you herself, when we get back to Storybrooke. But you need to know that she did try to meet you and tell you herself. She would have been there in time if Regina hadn't interfered."

Regina, looking up from the other group, huffed, "And why is everything my fault? True love finds a way, doesn't it?" she said with a sarcastic arch of her brow at David and Mary-Margaret. "At least that's what all heroes and sappy movies say. She had other means to get his attention. And were his legs broken that he couldn't go down to the harbor and look for her?"

"How do you know I didn't?" Eric said in a soft tone that immediately set Killian on alert. He straightened, stepping away from the tree, prepared to intervene with an appropriate distraction before it got ugly. If there was one person with the potential to rival him for a grudge, it was the usually-cheerful Eric.

"Because it is your fault," Emma spoke up suddenly from where she sat next to Neal.

_Tell her lass_, Killian thought with pride, admiring the fierce glare she'd fixed upon the evil queen.

"And how do you figure that?" Regina said with a tilt of her head. "You weren't even there."

"I think," David said in a reasonable tone, "that all of this squabbling won't get us anywhere. Whatever differences we have, we must set them aside until we rescue Henry and get off this island." He glanced at Killian. "Hook, what do you think about Neal's plan?"

He blinked as all eyes turned to him. He might have expected Emma to ask him for his thoughts on the matter, but not her father. "He's right. We need to draw Pan away from his source of support. One of us will need to be the lure." He shrugged. "But we can't realistically expect to keep our word to remove Wendy and Tootles from the island while we're fighting off Pan and a hoard of Lost Boys. Someone will have to separate from this group and take them to the Jolly Roger alone."

"I'll do it," Eric volunteered. "He won't expect me to be roaming the island. I can set off to retrieve her tomorrow, stow her on the ship, and come back for Tootles while everyone else is distracted with the fighting."

"Just so," Killian agreed with a nod.

"So who's going to be the bait?" Emma wondered.

"I will," Neal said with a troubled expression.

"Neal-"

"He won't expect me to be free, either, Em. And I've upset his plans before, so he won't want to simply send his Lost Boys after me and risk them bumbling it up. He'll want to deal with me himself." He laid his hand on top of one of her own. "Please, Em," he pleaded, "let me do this for our son."

"And I suppose I have no say in this even though I raised Henry by myself for eleven years?" Regina interrupted caustically. "Legally, neither of you have any claim to him."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "Really Regina?" She tilted her head. "You're going to start this now?"

"Far be it for me to interrupt such a heartwarming familial discussion," Killian spoke up, "but hadn't we better save the boy before anyone fights for guardianship over him?"

"Hook's right," David said with a nod. "Neal, you and Hook know Pan the best. If you can draw him away from the Lost Boys, Mary-Margaret and I can help ambush him. The others can fend of the Lost Boys."

"I'm afraid not, mate," Hook disagreed. "You need someone with magic in the ambush. Regina's the strongest threat-and the most vicious, which is a trait we may need to defeat Pan. We can't afford to send anyone with a soft heart on the ambush."

"So who else do we send?" Mary-Margaret wondered, looking around the camp in turn.

"Me," he said simply. "Like Neal, I'm familiar with Pan and his tactics; and I'll not hesitate to strike at the bastard, giving Regina the advantage to do her worst while he is distracted. The rest of you can hold back the Lost Boys, buying us time to take care of Pan."

Emma glared at him from where she sat, clearly displeased about something. He arched a brow, inviting her to voice her objections, if he'd overlooked something important. She looked away, and David spoke again.

"It's settled, then. We turn in early tonight and get some rest; then tomorrow we put our plan into action and go get my grandson."

They broke into smaller groups again, Mary-Margaret resuming her conversation with Prince Eric, and Neal arguing with Emma in hushed tones, presumably about his role in their son's rescue, while David and Regina settled in for sentry duty. Snagging their water skins with his hook for a plausible excuse, Killian walked past all of them into the jungle. He needed to clear his head.

_Tomorrow_, he thought with a measure of relief, _tomorrow it will be over. We rescue Emma's son and I'm free to set sail again after I return them home to Storybrooke_. He didn't have a particular destination in mind, but that bothered him not in the least. Part of the reason he had become a sailor, and eventually a pirate, was to explore the unknown and enjoy the spoils of other lands. After years of being forced to bide his time in Neverland and then the Enchanted Forest, all to exact revenge on his crocodile, it would be freeing to sail unknown waters again.

A branch snapped behind him. Killion's head snapped up, his hand immediately going for the hilt of his sword.

"It's me," Emma's familiar voice assured him.

He turned, watching her approach. Her long, golden hair feathered away from her shoulders in the slight breeze that she created while she walked. Inhaling with a shudder, he stepped back to make room for her near the stream. "Swan," he greeted her. "Come to have a nip of my rum? Everyone getting along that badly?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "They'll sort it out eventually. I wouldn't say no to a bit of your rum, though."

He handed the flask to her without a word. She tipped her head back to take a drink, showcasing a lovely expanse of neck. Killian felt his mouth go dry. What he wouldn't give to see it arched back in the throes of passion.

"You okay?" She handed the flask back with an arched brow.

He stored the flask again. "What really brings you out here, Swan?" he wondered, avoiding her question with one of his own.

She sighed. "I wanted to ask you about Eric. You seem to have an interesting history with him. Is he someone we can trust? Will he help us in our plan to rescue Henry, or should I worry that he is working for Pan?"

"A spy?" Killian shook his head. "Not likely. Pan made him watch while he tortured and killed members of his crew. I don't see him swearing allegiance after that."

"How do you know all this?" she wondered. "Were you there?"

"Not in enough bloody time," he answered shortly. "Tink got there first, after alerting us to his situation, but even as fast as she is, the Jolly Roger is unpredictable in a storm."

"I remember."

"Aye." He thought back to the storm they had encountered after their entry into Neverland waters, how he had almost lost her because of the damned mermaids stirring up trouble again. He swallowed with difficulty. "By the time my crew and I reached his vessel, a third of his crew had been murdered." He paused. "I surmise the rest perished after I left Neverland, when another storm broke his ship apart among the rocks, trapping him on the shores of Neverland. Bloody shame."

She watched him for several moments, absorbing this information. A corner of her mouth crooked into a smile. "He's right. You do know each other. You're friends, aren't you?"

"Well, I certainly wouldn't tell him that," he answered uncomfortably.

"Why not?"

"We spent twenty-five years sailing Neverland's seas as rivals, trying to one-up each other in front of our crews. Old habits are difficult to break."

"Then why did you try to save him and his crew?"

"Where Pan is concerned, we've always been allies, " he admitted. "Sailors will always have each other's backs against a threat invading their territory."

"Twenty-five years," she murmured, a puzzled look on her face. "And my mother knew him...This was after Regina's curse, wasn't it?"

"Aye. The Prince didn't sail into Neverland until I'd been here with my crew for nearly three hundred years. Naive bastard." He shook his head, recalling the memory. "Didn't think he'd last, but he surprised me." He shrugged. "As for the curse, for some reason we were immune to it, being in Neverland when it struck. I didn't even learn about it until I returned to the Enchanted Forest, about three years before it was lifted."

"Where you joined forces with Cora," she said flatly, reminded of his long list of misdeeds.

"I joined forces with Cora because she had a reasonable chance of getting me to Rumplestiltskin to exact my revenge," he told her, stepping closer. He gazed down into her green eyes, willing her to see that he was in earnest. "Nothing more. You ignored your instinct up on that beanstalk and abandoned me. At least trust that I am telling the truth now," he pleaded. "We won't find Henry and save him if we don't trust each other."

She gazed into his eyes, as if searching them for some proof that would reassure her of the truth of his words. "I do trust you," she said quietly. Killian released a breath he had not even known he had been holding. "Thank you for all your help finding my son," she murmured.

"It's been a pleasure, love," he said sincerely.


	6. Chapter 6

_That's it?_ Emma wondered to herself as she walked back to camp. _'It's been a pleasure'?_ No flirting? No trying to talk her into another kiss? She frowned, trying to puzzle out this sudden shift in behavior. Where was Captain Innuendo? She was comfortable with _him_. She even _enjoyed_ the verbal sparring. But she didn't know how to respond to this serious, sincere side of the pirate.

Pushing aside a tangle of leaves, Emma entered the camp again and looked around. Mary-Margaret and David huddled together, their hands intertwined, talking softly, while Neal and Regina sat alone on opposite sides of the fire. Seeking out the dark-haired prince, she spied Eric sitting much farther away, at the edge of the firelight.

Emma felt Neal's eyes follow her as she walked over to Eric.

"I'm sorry about your son," Eric said as she sat down next to him.

"Thank you," she said with a surprised smile.

He shrugged. "I wouldn't feed a mermaid to that twisted bastard," he said in a harsh voice.

Emma blinked several times. "You...don't like mermaids?"

"Hate every blasted one of them," he nodded. "Nothing but a torment to my crew from the beginning. Finally destroyed my ship and what was left of my crew after Jones left Neverland."

_That's going to put a damper on his relationship with Ariel when he finds out_, Emma thought, recalling the snatches of conversation she had heard between Eric and Mary-Margaret earlier, while Neal had tried to draw her into conversation.

"I'm sorry about your crew," she returned.

"My thanks."

"So. You and Hook are rivals, huh?" she said, searching for another topic.

He laughed, his black mood dissipating. "Is that what he told you?"

"It's not true?" she wondered. Had Killian lied to her? She hadn't felt an untruth from him.

"True enough, at the beginning. But we learned to respect each other after a while, and the only rivalry that's existed since is a product of his own pride and ego."

"Yeah, that definitely sounds like him."

He grinned. "Same old Jones. Never changes much."

"You'd be surprised," she said in a thoughtful tone.

"Oh?" Eric raised a brow, a mischievous gleam in his ice-blue eyes.

"Nothing," she backpedaled, kicking herself.

He flashed her a wide smile. "The rather becoming blush to your cheeks tells me otherwise," he disagreed amiably.

"You just want ammunition to use against him," she accused with an amused smile, "so you can entertain yourself by tormenting him."

"Hmm," he said, glancing away, "I suppose you're right."

Emma followed his gaze and saw Killian walking back into camp with the refilled water skins. A mischievous impulse took over, and she raised her voice just enough for the pirate to hear as he passed by, "Now that I think of it, Eric," she said, shooting him a significant look, "I do remember him refusing a drink from his own flask of rum the other day."

Eric's face lit up like it was Christmas morning. "That's not changing," he said with a conspiratorial wink for their shared entertainment, "that's time to call the physician."

"Funny," Killian grumbled, setting the water skins down by their packs. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll just have a chat with Regina about that jackass curse," he shot back, "the one that gives you ears and a tail. May as well look your part," he smirked.

Emma watched him retreat and settle next to the evil queen, frowning. Why was he so chummy with Regina of late? she wondered.

Eric followed her gaze. "You know," he said in a low tone, turning back to her, "it's not wise to lead a pirate on. Best not to raise his hopes if you haven't any intention of following through."

"I'm not leading him on," she hissed.

"No? I see the way you react to each other. He'd walk the plank into shark infested waters if you asked him to. Best to pull away now before it hurts him and ruins your relationship with Neal."

"Neal?" she whispered, making a face, "I'm not with Neal."

"No?" he said with a glint in his eyes.

"No," she confirmed with a shake of her head. "We haven't been together since before our son was born. He didn't even know Henry existed until several weeks ago."

"Ah," he said thoughtfully. "He behaves rather..."

"Presumptively?" she sighed. "I know. It's...he has reason to hope," she admitted with a rush of guilt. "I don't... I just want to get Henry right now."

"We will," he assured her with a sympathetic look. "Of that I am certain."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Whew! NaNoWriMo really took it out of me this year, and although I somehow managed to pull off an insane, last-minute win after being 5 days behind in word count for more than two weeks, I really needed a short break from any kind of writing after that. So thanks for your patience in this latest update. I really appreciate it.**

Killian arose before dawn the next morning to prepare, stepping past his slumbering companions to retrieve the whetstone from his satchel. He sat down on a large boulder and tested the blade of his sword against his thumb. Frowning at its dullness, he picked up the whetstone and began to sharpen the blade in the predawn light, debating with himself whether to sharpen his hook as well, or to leave it dull and inflict more pain on Pan.

Eric stepped up next to him just as he'd decided to sharpen the hook in favor of being able to wound easier. "A word, mate, before I leave?"

"I'd say that's quite a few words already," he retorted out of habit. "What do you want?"

Eric raised a brow. "Is this how you talk to all your old acquaintances? Or just the ones who got sauced and blew a hole through the hull of your ship one night?"

"Another reason to come steal your rum," Killian groused, remembering the boom that had shaken his ship and startled him out of his wits just as he had been falling into an uneasy slumber. That particular incident set them back considerably from the uneasy friendship they had been edging toward, and it had almost been something of a relief to renew their rivalry in earnest. Even now, as the prince reminded of him of it, Killian felt a flare of anger on behalf of his ship.

"You stole my rum _three years_ later, and then sailed the hell out of Neverland before my crew and I could retaliate!"

"Well, I never said that was my primary motivation for stealing your rum." Killian looked up with a grin. "Call it an amusing bonus. I _did_ advise you leave Neverland, as you'll recall."

Eric's eyes narrowed. "And I'm supposed to believe that was the reason for invading my ship, rather than having the last laugh in our rivalry?"

Killian shrugged. Was there a reason it couldn't be both? he wondered. He was not about to point that out to the prince, however, if he chose to think otherwise.

"Look, Jones," the prince said, "you can't deny that over the course of our acquaintance, we've had each other's backs more often than not."

"Well, I _could_," Killian muttered with a sardonic edge to his voice, "but that might take longer than this bush you insist on murdering by blunt force. Your point, Highness?"

"I spoke with Emma last night."

"So I noticed," he answered, pausing to examine his blade with a critical eye. "By the way, what say I treat you to a drink when we get back to Storybrooke? Make up for that nasty business about the rum?"

"So you can slip that curse into my drink? No thanks."

"Your suspicious nature wounds me," Killian retorted, feigning innocence. "Can't two old rivals sit for a drink with one another without anything underhanded afoot?"

"Killian," the other man said in a serious tone, ignoring the question.

He looked up, surprised at Eric's use of his given name. When had the other man even learned it? He didn't rightly remember. Perhaps one of his old crew had let it slip after too much rum. "What do you want?"

"Emma," the other man said, causing Killian's heart to pulse with jealousy. "She is not reconciled with Henry's father."

It took Killian a moment to register that Eric had no romantic designs on Emma after all. Jealousy gradually dissipated, and he looked at the prince with suspicion. "What do you mean by telling me that?"

"Because we're both sailors at heart, and we believe in good form," he replied after a slight hesitation. "Watch your back today, Jones," he said by way of retreat, "Pan wasn't at all pleased by your absence all these years."

Killian watched him disappear into the jungle, mulling over the strange conversation. First David, now Eric. Had everyone gone bloody mad at once? Perhaps this was Pan's doing. The evil shit loved his mind games, after all. What better way to get to him, than to influence his peers to push him toward Emma-the very person he had recently challenged Killian to be honest with. Was he now seeing the result of his defiance toward Pan?

"You look lost." He looked up, startled from his thoughts. Emma hunkered in the dirt next to him, her expression pensive, but mildly curious. "In your thoughts, I mean." She looked away, and Killian admired the faint rosy hue to her cheeks, helpless to do otherwise. "I saw you talking to Eric," she continued, looking at him again. "I didn't want to interrupt, it seemed like a serious conversation." She peered toward the path the dark-haired prince had taken through the jungle before disappearing, her expression anxious.

"He'll not betray us, Emma," he reassured her with a gentle tone. "Eric is one of the few people to whom I'd entrust my life."

"I know," she answered, glancing at him in surprise. "I believed you. That's not what-" She inhaled, her gaze shifting downward. "Listen," she began, "can we-"

"Emma." They looked up. Neal stood a few feet away, hands shoved in his trouser pockets. "Can I have a word? If you're not too busy?"

She looked at Killian, her expression reluctant. He nodded at her. "All right," she sighed, rising to her feet. "But make it quick. I need to prepare my own gear, and the others will be up soon, too." She walked over to the other man, and they set off in the opposite direction. Neal placed a hand on her shoulder blade, guiding her into the more private reaches of the jungle.

He watched them go, sharpening his hook with quick, angry precision. A knot of jealousy cinched itself ever more tightly in the pit of his stomach. It was irrational, he knew, because he had decided for himself to step back, to allow Emma to reconnect with Neal and rekindle a relationship with him if she desired. But jealousy set his belly aflame nonetheless, and he couldn't suppress the impulse to glance from time to time toward the area of the jungle to which they had retreated.

Killian finished, eyeing the metal appendage critically. He glanced toward the jungle again. Frowning, he leaned over and picked up Emma's spare weapon, a dagger that lay abandoned on top of her pack. The least he could do was save her some time when she returned from whatever was taking so bloody long to discuss with Neal. He tested the blade on his thumb and then set to work sharpening the weapon, unaware that he handled it with far more care and focus than he had shown to any of his own, but determined that Emma would meet Pan with every advantage of protecting herself that he could muster. Her son was counting on her.

**A/N: And that's the last we'll see of Eric until they're back on the Jolly Roger, so I hope you enjoyed the scene with him. I might flashback to his role in Neverland during his tie-in fic with Ariel, after they get back to Storybrooke, but I haven't decided yet. All I know is that I am really chomping at the bit to write that one. Eric and Ariel have always been favorites of mine, and I'm dying to give my own take on their relationship. But there's a planned sequel to this fic that I may need to write first, depending on how I decide to order events. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

Emma shrugged Neal's hand away as they moved into the jungle, and her hand moved to the hilt of her sword, serving as a convenient excuse to disdain the unwanted contact. Increasing her pace, she moved through the brush ahead of him, pushing leaves out of her path and hacking through vines as necessary. She knew by instinct that whatever Neal wanted to speak with her about right now had nothing to do with their son, and everything to do with their previous declarations of love for each other. It was _not_ a conversation that she wanted to have the morning of her son's rescue, with a battle against Pan looming in her near future.

It wasn't a conversation she wanted to have at all. Ever.

Neal had forced the issue, however, and Emma had chosen to get the uncomfortable talk out of the way rather than rebuff him in favor of the conversation she had started to initiate with Killian. Not that that particular conversation would have been exactly comfortable, and yet...it hadn't filled her with a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Killian, she sensed, would respect the fact that she was not ready to sort out her feelings and begin a relationship with _anyone_ until they rescued her son and got the hell out of Neverland, at the very least; Neal, she was almost certain, would not. He seemed to take it for granted that, well, that they were already in a relationship.

Nothing could be further from the truth, so far as she was concerned.

"I suppose this is good enough," she said with a sigh, halting in her tracks. She turned to face Neal with reluctance. "So talk," she told him, far more bluntly than good manners warranted.

He shifted, his expression uncertain. "Emma," he began, "what's wrong? You have been acting irritable, on edge. It's not like you."

_How the hell would you know what I'm like?_ she thought resentfully. _ You left me eleven years ago, pregnant and sentenced to a jail cell_. Did he really think that she hadn't changed over the years, that she was some static, idealistic, head-over-heels-in-love-with-him young girl after all this time? Particularly after what she had been through, been forced to endure by his own high-handed decision to entrust her fate to Pinocchio rather than remaining by her side to help her break the curse?

"Yeah, well, this place does that," she answered instead. "But I'm hardly the same person you knew eleven years ago, Neal."

"I can see that."

_Can you?_ She wondered. Did he have any idea, any real idea at all of the damage he'd caused, the pain he'd inflicted? The cynicism and distrust he had sowed in her by his actions? Neal had expectations of her, based on a past that was long gone. Would he ever be able to shake them, to start fresh, if he truly wanted a relationship with her? She wasn't certain of that, any more than she was certain whether she would ever be able to truly trust him and be vulnerable with him again.

"Look, Em," he said, "I know you're worried about Henry; we all are. But something else is going on. Why won't you tell me what it is? We used to talk about things. Now you're closed off, like we aren't even friends."

"Perhaps you should have thought about that before you abandoned me on that beanstalk," she muttered.

The sarcastic reply left her mouth before it even registered with her brain, and Emma wondered where in the hell it had come from. A rush of sympathy and understanding for Killian's bruised feelings after her abandonment of him washed over her, followed by guilt. She had done the only thing she could have done in such a situation, and yet...she could see now how it might have rankled with him, made him bitter and resentful toward her for a time, as she was now bitter and resentful toward Neal. But they had somehow managed to move past such hurt feelings, while she seemed stalled in her forgiveness of Neal.

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Look," she said, brushing aside the beanstalk comment as if it had never been uttered, "this place is making all of us crazy. This is not the time to deal with...whatever is between us. The only thing I want to do is get Henry back and go home. Then maybe gorge on something really unhealthy with him, like ice cream. I've had about all the fruit and fish and nuts I can stand." She shook her head at the tangent, steering the conversation back on course, "The point is, you seem to be presuming a lot of things about us, and expecting things I simply can't deliver right now. Maybe never. I don't know."

His expression shifted from concern to confusion. "I don't understand. Before I fell through the portal, I thought we made our feelings clear for each other." He took a step toward her, and Emma backed away, almost without realizing it. "Do you love me, or don't you? Why did you say it if you didn't mean it?"

"I don't know," she moaned, out of frustration. "I thought you were going to die."

"So you said it out of pity?" The hurt in his eyes was palpable, and Emma looked away guiltily. "To spare my feelings because you thought I was going to die?"

"No!" she shouted. "It wasn't like that. Of course I love you, Neal! I have never _stopped_ loving you, and that is the damn problem, okay? I didn't lie to you. But...things are different now."

"Different how?" His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Is there someone else, Em?"

"Maybe," she admitted quietly.

Understanding lit in his eyes, and his expression became more pained. "I knew it. I tried to tell myself I was imagining it, but I see the way you're always laughing and smiling with him; how you go out of your way just to talk with him. I can understand the attraction," he admitted with reluctance, "he's handsome and charming enough, but don't you think this is...rather sudden? You've only just met him, Emma."

She blinked. "What?"

"Eric."

"I-I don't love Eric," she stuttered, caught off guard.

"It's not Eric?" he echoed skeptically. "Then who? There's no one else but-" His eyes widened with sudden realization. "_Him?_ You want _him_, Emma?" his voice crescendoed. "He stole my mother away from my father and wrecked my parents' marriage! And then he apparently spent hundreds of years trying to kill my father! _That's_ who you want?"

"Unless he hit her over the head and dragged her back to his cave, I hardly think he was the only party to blame," she fought back with vehemence, surprised to hear herself taking up for Killian when she knew full well and good that his actions had been wrong. "If your mother was willing to abandon her marriage so easily, I think that rather points to some existing problems before Killian showed up."

"Killian? He's _Killian_ now?"

"Yes," she glared. "That is his name. And neither of us are such saints ourselves that we have any right to forever condemn him for his transgressions." She sighed. "But none of this is about him, Neal. It's about us. It's about the fact that you got me pregnant and abandoned me to rot in a jail cell by myself, which is bad enough-"

"I didn't know you were pregnant," he whispered.

"Yes," she admitted, "but that doesn't change the fact that I was. Nor does it change the fact that you left me, based on nothing more than the word of someone who is, by all literary accounts, a well-known liar. You could have fought for me, tried to find a way to stay with me and help me break the curse when it was time, but you didn't. And I think we both know why." She gazed up at him, catching his eyes with her own. "You were running from your father, from magic."

She held up a hand as he tried to protest. "Don't. You admitted as much when we met each other in New York again. You said you never would have gotten involved with me if you had known who and what I was. What's more, for something that you called a mistake, something that you regret, you didn't bother to come find me in Storybrooke after the curse broke and repair the damage. You found someone else and got engaged to her. You never had any intention of ever contacting me again. And then," she said, her voice rising several octaves, "and then you accused me of jealousy when I sensed Tamara wasn't all she claimed to be, and you told me that you never believed in my ability to detect lies. And now you want me to trust you, to jump into a relationship with you again?" She paused, fighting to catch her breath. "Why," she whispered, a tear falling down her cheek, "just tell me why I should ever give you another chance?"

"Because that's what true love does," he answered after a moment of heavy silence. "It overcomes all obstacles, even what seems impossible."

"But I didn't grow up in a fairytale land like the rest of you, Neal," she pointed out somberly. "And I just don't believe in things like that." She shrugged. "Maybe that's part of the impossible that we have to overcome. Or maybe we aren't true loves at all. I don't know. And this is not the time or the place to figure any of this out. I am here for _Henry_-not you, and not Killian. When we get back home, maybe...after I've had some time with Henry...I can sort out what I feel. But it will be on _my_ time, Neal, in a manner of my choosing, not yours." She swallowed. "Or his." She pushed past him, stalking through the brush, "So let's cut the crap, stop wasting time, and go get our son."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: As always, thank you to everyone who is reading this fic. I hope you have been enjoying it. This chapter is very long, as it's composed of three major events that drive the plot toward its conclusion, so you might want to get a cup of your favorite beverage and settle in someplace comfortable for the ride.**

* * *

Killian ignored the whispers and activity of his companions while they made all the preparations with their weapons and supplies that he had already finished for himself and Emma. Shifting on the rock he sat upon, he removed the flask of rum from his person. He eyed it thoughtfully, wondering if he should have passed it to Eric before he had left. It might have made up in a very small way for his theft of all the prince's rum so many years ago (a matter which the prince still seemed inclined to hold over his head, even in jest) and solved his own dilemma besides.

_A one handed pirate with a drinking problem_, he thought to himself with bitterness.

Pan's words still haunted him. That they contained a kernel of truth was unbearable to think about, and yet...with Pan, there was always some truth beneath the layers of lies and deception. Hadn't he resolved to stop drinking the rum-actually put it away without tasting a drop-when he had revealed to Emma that Neal was still alive and somewhere on Neverland? But it hadn't been long after Neal was freed that he had resorted to the familiar drink without a second's thought about it. Had occasional indulgence become unbreakable habit?

He glanced down at his hook, glinting in the early morning sunlight. Though he bore a grudge against the crocodile for taking his hand and his love, Milah, even these hundreds of years later, it had been some time since he had missed the use of his other hand. The hooked appendage had proved itself to be quite useful in captaining the Jolly Roger, as well as striking fear into his enemies and building up an infamous reputation that far exceeded any actual villainy he'd committed planning his revenge.

And it wasn't a bad weapon to have in a tight spot, either.

But useful as it was, his hook was not a hand, designed for caressing and comfort. It was made for ripping, slashing, pulling...but none of the things that Killian most wanted to do with Emma. And though he had another hand with which to hold her, he wondered if it would have been enough, even if he had continued to pursue her. The contrast between his hook and his solitary hand was a fitting symbol for the two halves of his person, he decided; the menacing pirate, Captain Hook, and the earnest sailor, Killian Jones. Could one man be both, or must both sides always be at war with one another?

"Give any more thought to what we talked about, earlier?" a voice asked in a low tone.

Killian looked up in confusion and found David standing next to him. _Perhaps I would have, if I had ever figured out what the bloody hell you were driving at_, he thought with irritation. Instead, he answered, "Not particularly."

David's eyes widened slightly, and he looked genuinely surprised. "Why not?"

"Situation's a bit more complicated than you're aware of, I'm afraid."

The other man frowned, as if he were trying to puzzle something out. "So you're not going to fight for her? What happened to being here for Emma, to doing things for her benefit?"

Killian shot David an exasperated look. "What do you think I'm doing, here, mate? I didn't volunteer to make myself an easy target in the ambush because I enjoy Pan's witty banter. What's it to you, mate?"

"Everything," David answered. "She's my daughter. Her happy ending is everything to me, mate."

He blinked in surprise. It was the first time the prince had used the term "mate" without sarcasm or rancor. The novelty of it was such that it distracted him for several moments from the real meaning behind the prince's words. When it filtered through his brain, his heart almost stopped. David thought there was a real chance that he might be Emma's happy ending?

Hope sparked in him again, fighting against the dark regrets he'd had in his relationship with Baelfire for hundreds of years. He couldn't turn back the clock to change the past. The ill feeling that lay between him and Baelfire wouldn't easily dissipate, regardless of whether he pursued Emma or not. A bit foolish, he realized, to think that it would have. His issues with Milah's son, while they might be exacerbated by his romantic interest with Emma, must be settled separately; Emma should not be caught in the crossfire and used as a shield to avoid confronting the past, nor as a weapon through which they settled their differences. It would be bad form.

_A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets_. His own words came back to haunt him, unbidden, and he barked a short laugh."Take this," he told the prince, thrusting the flask of rum into his hands with a renewed resolve to prove himself to Emma and win her affections fully.

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I," he admitted, "but I'd like to keep my head clear today, just the same." He grinned at the other man and winked, unable to keep from baiting him by tacking on, "Papa."

David rolled his eyes with a groan. "Don't make me regret this, Hook."

"Regret what?" Mary-Margaret wondered, walking up to them. "Is Emma back yet?"

"No," David began, "but-"

Brush rustled behind them, and Emma emerged, her expression agitated, followed by Neal, who looked as if he had just been keelhauled. Whatever had transpired between the ex-lovers, it hadn't been good. Killian looked away, selfishly pleased by this turn of events.

Emma paused by the other travel packs, staring at the ground in confusion as she searched for her own among them. Leaning over, Killian picked up her satchel and dagger and walked over, handing them to her without a word. He felt Neal's eyes tracking him, and spared a brief glance for the other man, whose expression was thunderous, before turning back to Emma. Apparently the competition for her heart was not to be one-sided.

Her green eyes lit with surprise as she surveyed the weapon's keen edge. "Thank you," she said with a slight smile.

He shrugged. "Thought it might save a little time, so we can avoid more...unnecessary delays in rescuing your son."

She glanced back at Neal as he said this, and sighed. "I'm not sure it was unnecessary." Pulling the satchel across her shoulder, she stowed the dagger in a sheath at her belt. "Anyway, none of that matters now. It's time to get Henry."

"Aye," he said, handing her the whetstone he had used to sharpen his own weapons, "that it is. Best make your final preparations, lass. Once we find Pan, there's no going back for any of us. Not this time."

* * *

They traveled in silence most of the morning, with Emma taking the lead as she read the map that would lead them to Pan. Killian flanked her, surveying the land he unfortunately knew so well, scouting out hidden dangers that might lie in wait, while Neal, David, and Mary-Margaret followed next, Regina covering them from behind. The island was disturbingly still today, the insects and birds punctuating the silence only rarely, and Killian couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that had been building in him since they had set out earlier. Was Pan aware that they were coming? Had Tootles sold them out, after all?

He glanced at Emma out of the corner of his eye from time to time, wondering if he should give voice to the feeling that nagged at him. He didn't want to worry her needlessly or seem paranoid. And what could she really do to take precaution against a vague feeling of unease that mostly likely stemmed from apprehension at what they were about to attempt, anyway?

Agitated, he was relieved when they reached their prearranged spot to meet Tink, and David finally suggested that they take a break to refresh themselves. With no sign of the fairy yet, Killian pressed his lips together, worried. What could be keeping her? Had Pan discovered that she was helping them, and taken her hostage? The thought that the evil little bastard might hurt his longtime friend-or worse-made him feel nauseated.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Killian spied Emma rolling up the map without a word. Grateful for the distraction from his dark thoughts, he considered approaching Emma, keen to reassure her and see the worry that was etched into her face evaporate for a few moments. As she stowed the map in her satchel, however, Neal wasted no time closing the distance with his ex. Annoyance flashed across her face, and Killian retreated with a smirk. _Give the man enough rope_, he thought, _he'll hang himself without my lifting a finger_. He regretted though, that Emma's spirits would only be weighed down all the more by the ugly conversation that already seemed to be ensuing between the ex-lovers.

_Ex_, he thought with a smile. The word had never sounded so good to him. David had tried to tell him, he recalled, and Eric had all but hit him over the head with it this morning. But he'd been too disappointed, retreating instinctively behind his own set of walls, to see their reunion for the unhappy one it had really been, rather than Emma simply being uncomfortable with open affection.

She _wasn't_ comfortable with it, of course, that much had been very plain to him from the beginning-but then, she wasn't comfortable accepting anyone's affections to begin with. That, he decided, he would do his best to change. Slowly, he suspected-perhaps agonizingly so-but the reward of her returned affections would more than be worth it, if he could earn them.

Buoyed by these thoughts, he walked toward the others, giving Emma further privacy to argue with Neal.

Mary-Margaret had settled on the ground beneath two banana trees, and David sat next to her, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. Killian felt a pang of longing and looked toward Emma, unable to stop himself. _Patience, Jones,_ he told himself. _We're not out of Neverland yet. And she'll want to spend some time with the lad, first_.

"Well, isn't that sweet?" Regina said sarcastically, following his gaze. She rolled her eyes, and Killian frowned."If you can pry your eyes off your girlfriend for a minute, I'd like your help with something, pirate." She crooked a finger at him. "Follow me."

"What is it?" he asked warily, joining her a short distance away from the others.

"I want to make sure Pan is where we think he is. I don't like surprises, and I'm not about to let my son slip through our fingers again."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

She reached into her own pack and retrieved a small, oval frame with onyx colored glass set in the center of it. "With a dark mirror," she answered. "But if I'm going to get it to work, I need someone with ties to Neverland to help me. Since Neal's too preoccupied trying to browbeat Emma into loving him again," she said with an exasperated sigh, "that leaves you."

"Not exactly, dearie," a familiar male voice intoned.

Killian looked up, startled, as the familiar form of Rumplestiltskin appeared out of the brush for all the world as if he had appeared out of thin air.

Tink emerged behind him with a triumphant smile. "Look who I found." She walked over to join their little group, peering at Regina's mirror with interest. "Is that a dark mirror? You sure you want to use it here, Regina?"

"Do we have another choice?"

"That depends," Rumple said, glancing from Tink to Regina. "Would you like risky or suicidal?"

"What does the dark mirror do?" David asked, drawing Mary-Margaret up beside him as he joined the conversation.

"Isn't it supposed to let you see the past, or-or communicate with the dead?" Mary-Margaret said with an apprehensive expression. "What do you want that for?"

"Because it will let us know where Pan is hiding," Rumple answered for the evil queen. "We can watch all of his recent actions, see what the layout is, how many Lost Boys are with him-"

"Just what we need to lay the perfect trap," Emma breathed from behind him, her expression hopeful. Neal hovered behind her, his expression sober, but determined. He glared at Killian, who returned the greeting with a cheeky wave of his hook.

"Why didn't you tell us about this mirror before, Regina?" Emma's expression had clouded over, her gaze suspicious. "If it will help us find Henry-"

"Miss Swan," Rumple interrupted, "surely you recall by now that all magic comes with a price, hmm?" When she didn't answer, he continued, "As it happens, this particular mirror comes with a hefty one. So," he smiled without humor, "perhaps you understand why the Queen has been reluctant to make use of it until now. It is not something to use lightly."

Emma sighed, shoulders drooping with disappointment, her expression tired. "So what's our other option, then?"

"We visit the mermaids and ask them to scry for us," Rumple offered. "Their information will be from the present, and easier to understand, rather than trying to interpret disjointed bits of past events." He paused, tilting his head to the side. "Of course, Neverland's mermaids aren't real fond of humans, and they're as like to kill us before we can bargain for their help as anything else. Take it from me, dearie, the mirror is our best option."

She eyed Rumplestiltskin skeptically for a moment. Her eyes slid over to Killian's, her gaze questioning. He shook his head in answer to her silent query. Mermaids, as he and Eric had plenty of cause to know, weren't worth the risk involved.

"Neal? Regina?" she tried.

"Obviously, I favor the mirror," the queen snorted.

"We're taking a chance either way," Neal pointed out sensibly. "If we use the mirror, we risk misinterpretation of what we see, but if we approach the mermaids for more accurate information, we're likely to end up fish food." He shook his head. "I vote for the mirror."

Emma frowned. "What kind of price does the mirror require?" she asked Rumplestiltskin.

"Those who seek to look into the past will lose a piece of it," Rumple answered. "The dark mirror steals it from you. It could be a painful memory, or an important one, or something with great influence in your life, but it will be erased from your mind as if it never happened."

Killian fixed his steely gaze on Regina. "And you were going to require me to aid you in this without telling me?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she retorted in a bored tone. "I'm the one who will work the mirror and pay the price. I just need the blood of someone tied to Neverland, so we can locate Pan on this island." She looked from Neal to Killian to Tink. "Any volunteers?"

Neal stared at the mirror with a deep frown, his expression conflicted. Killian started to open his mouth, but Tink stepped forward instead. "I'll do it," she said. "I have the strongest connections to Neverland of all of us. Perhaps it will help you to discern better, Regina." She looked at the queen with a smile. "For your son."

"Prick your finger," Regina instructed, handing the fairy a needle she had procured from her satchel. "That's it," she agreed, watching a bead of red blood well up on the fairy's fingertip. "Now press your finger to the mirror."

The fairy complied, and the mirror's surface melted beneath her fingertip, absorbing the blood greedily. Surprised, Tink drew back her finger with a soft "Oh!" The drop of blood swirled and spread through the mirror's liquefied surface in ever widening ripples. Regina lifted it level with her eyes and closed her eyes, muttering the spell necessary to utilize the mirror's properties. The mirror glowed a soft red in response, and the queen opened her eyes and began to watch.

Uncomfortable, Killian shifted where he stood. The sense of foreboding he'd been experiencing was expanding, and he glanced at his companions. They each watched Regina, still as statues, waiting for news. None of them seemed uneasy in the least.

"Pan moved this morning," Regina said suddenly, lowering the mirror. She stowed it away and frowned. "He's about five miles east of where we intended to ambush, but the general area is the same." She looked at Emma. "He set traps, so be careful."

"I can take care of that," Mary-Margaret said with confidence. "I've set a number of those myself. I know what to look for."

"All right," Emma decided, "Mary-Margaret, you and Tink lead our group through the jungle, then. Between the two of you, we ought to stand a good chance of avoiding anything that might ruin our plan and give away our approach. We split up now and veer around their camp from opposite sides. Neal distracts Pan for us, and then you and Regina go in for the kill," she finished, her eyes meeting Killian's.

"Aye," he nodded.

"Gold-" she hesitated.

"I go where my son goes," he told her pointedly.

"No," she shook her head. "We created this plan with the idea that Neal can draw Pan away from the others because he would be the biggest perceived threat, having escaped Neverland before. If Pan sees you, that might ruin everything. You come with us."

"Miss Swan-"

"If you wanted a say in our strategy, maybe you should have stuck around," Emma grated out, her expression hard. "Don't expect to come back now and disrupt our plans for the hell of it."

"Listen to her, Papa," Neal told him, turning toward his father. "This is the best way. Besides, they'll need you to protect Henry while they fend off the horde of Lost Boys."

The appeal to Rumple's ego seemed to work, for he emitted a heavy sigh. "All right. But do be careful, Bae."

"I will," he assured Rumple, stepping forward to hug his father.

"Let's go, then," David announced, glancing up at the sky. "We still have some distance to travel, and those traps will be harder for Snow to spot in the dark. We'll wait for Neal to approach the camp and draw Pan away before we attack."

Regina glanced at Neal, and they waded into the brush together without a word, while the members of the other group turned in the opposite direction and began to do the same. Killian glanced toward Emma, who stood waiting for the other members of her party to pass by. "Stay safe Swan," he told her softly.

She looked up, her expression indiscernible. "You too."

He swallowed thickly and nodded once, parting from her without another word. He picked his way through the jungle foliage, following his companions' trail. He caught up with them easily enough, for they were conversing in low tones as they walked. Ignoring them, Killian busied himself studying the lay of the land surrounding them. The last thing they needed was to wander into a patch of dreamshade.

He couldn't have managed a word at the moment even if he'd had to.

* * *

Killian peered around the trunk of an impossibly large tree, peering at Regina. The queen stood with her back against a tree, her hands spread out in front of her in anticipation of the magic she would soon unleash upon Pan. Neal had disappeared several moments before, a sword in his hand, to challenge Pan. With any luck, he would soon lead the shit straight into their own trap. If not...Killian hoped luck would be on their side in whatever they improvised to fit the situation.

The hiss of two swords meeting sounded faintly in the distance, and the eerie sound of a rooster's crow echoed through the jungle. Chills went up Killian's spine, despite the number of times he'd heard the cocky bastard's signature cry. Dread and worry filled him again. Eric had warned him that Pan was holding a grudge against him for fleeing the island without his permission so many years ago. What of Bae, who'd escaped his grasp so many years earlier? If Pan killed Bae-

The sound of clanking swords drew nearer, and he glanced at Regina. Her expression was one of intent concentration, her head cocked to one side, listening. Voices filtered through the noise of the jungle, and Pan lunged into view, attacking Neal with excited fervor. Neal dodged the blow, scowling with hatred at the demonic teenager before him, and thrust at Pan, forcing him within attacking range of Regina and Killian.

Responding to his prearranged cue, Killian turned away from the tree and darted toward Pan, raising his sword. He swung at Pan's backside with the flat of his blade, delivering a much anticipated smack on the teenager's posterior. Grinning in satisfaction at Pan's surprise, he danced out of reach, "Missed me, I hear," he taunted the boy. "Careful what you wish for, lad."

Pan twisted around, facing his back toward Regina, as he faced Neal and Killian. "Wish for?" he laughed. "I'm not the one busy wishing to get into Emma's pants. So tell me: which of you has managed to do-"

"Hey!" Neal barked, thrusting his blade up to nick Pan's throat. "Shut up."

"Regina," Killian hissed, jerking his head toward Pan, "what are you waiting for? Someone to serve him up on a bloody platter?"

"I'm trying," she hissed back. "My magic isn't working."

"Try a little harder," he urged, dodging a blow as Pan feinted at him, then twisted around to deliver a surprise blow to Neal. The other man fell to one knee, momentarily stunned. "Regina!"

"I can't!" she growled. "It's gone. It's like-like it never existed! I can't remember how to work any of my spells. The damned mirror took all my memories of learning magic!"

"Bloody hell," he swore.

Neal struggled to his feet, circling Pan, who laughed sadistically. "Something funny?"

"Of course," Pan chortled, "I have a secret."

"Don't let him get to you, lad," Killian bit out, attempting to control his temper with great effort. "He's bluffing. He knows we have the advantage."

"You do?" Pan swung his sword at Killian, who ducked in the nick of time. The blade whistled through the air over his head. "I think not. See, I know who Rumplestiltskin _really_ is." He attacked Neal again. "Do you?" He grinned at their silence. "I didn't think so. I, on the other hand...well, I know him rather well. You might say I watched him _grow up_."

"What are you, some sick stalker?" Neal managed, fending off a flurry of blows from Pan's sword.

"No, just...a typical father."

Neal faltered in his attack, shocked at Pan's words. The teenager grinned as if he were relishing the moment, then darted forward in a clear thrusting move, his intention clear as the sword moved toward his grandson's heart.

Killian moved without thinking, thrusting himself in front of Milah's boy to absorb the blow. He cried out as the sword pierced his chest, slashing desperately at Pan with his hook in the process. He missed, falling backward and knocking into Bae. The other man caught him with a shocked expression, lowering him to the ground with care.

Pan threw back his head and laughed. "So how's it feel, pirate, knowing you'll never escape Neverland alive? " He smirked, raising an eyebrow. "It's fitting justice, isn't it, dying in Neverland's jungle, your own personal hell?" Pan squatted down beside Killian and whispered in his ear, "This is for abandoning our game, pirate. _No one_ leaves Neverland without my say-so. No one. I win. I _always_ win."

He struggled to sit up, ignoring Bae's urgings to lie still or risk bleeding out like Pan wanted. "I won when I helped Baelfire escape," he hissed as Regina stepped out from behind the tree, holding her satchel in one hand. "I only stayed in Neverland to bide my time for the crocodile. You never saw that because it didn't occur to you that we weren't playing the same game."

The teenager's face contorted into a mask of outrage, and he turned his vile gaze to Bae. "Some victory, when he's about to die," he taunted, lunging for Milah's boy with his bare hands. Neal landed on the ground with a grunt, his expression dazed from the impact.

Enraged, Killian pulled Pan's sword from his chest, careless of the consequences. Adrenaline pumping, he sat up and slashed again with his hook, sinking it into Pan's back, intent on pulling him off Bae just as Regina swung her satchel at Pan's head. The satchel made a thunk against his skull, and Pan collapsed, out cold.

Bae shoved Pan's still form away and knelt next to Killian, helping him lie down again. "Damn Regina, what do you have in that purse, rocks?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," she drawled in a dry tone. "I wasn't left with much choice after the mirror took my magic."

Bae glanced at Regina, his expression conflicted, as if he didn't know just what to say to that. "Come on," he finally said, "help me make him comfortable."

Killian winced as they moved him, grunting in pain despite his best efforts to remain stoic. "Bae-" he began.

"Not now," the other man whispered fiercely. "Later. When you're better."

"We both know that isn't going to happen." Baelfire stared at him, unwilling to face the truth. Killian lifted his good hand with great effort and clasped his arm. "You must know I how much I loved your mother," he pleaded. "I never stopped loving her. Or you."

He nodded in quiet acceptance, lowering his gaze. "I know." He looked up again. "What did you mean, you won a game by helping me escape Neverland?"

A wave of pain washed over Killian, and he grunted. "Always watched over you," he managed. "Helped you when you needed it."

"I'm going to get Gold," Regina stated with determination.

"Hurry," Bae urged her. "And bring Emma." He turned back to Killian. "I have to find something to tie Pan up with," he apologized, "I can't risk him hurting anyone again."

Killian managed a short nod, and Baelfire walked over to Regina's hiding place, her satchel's contents long since upended on the ground beneath the tree. The other man squatted, pawing through them in search of something with which to bind Pan. Turning his head to the side, Killian grimaced from the pain that even this small movement of his body caused. Panting, he fixed his furious gaze on Pan's still form. He wouldn't be able to keep his promise to return to Emma safely, but, by the gods, he would keep his promise to strike at the bastard and ensure that he would never harm her boy again.

Rolling to his side with enormous effort, he raised his hook. "This is for Henry," he growled. He sank his hook into the teenager's chest, ripping the flesh open. Blood poured out of the unconscious man's chest, and Killian sank the hook deeper into Pan's heart, unwilling to part from this life until he was certain the deed was accomplished.

"What are you doing?" Bae's voice interrupted, cracking in astonishment. Scarves lay in a heap at his feet, where he'd dropped them.

"What needs to be done," he panted in reply. "What no one else will do."

"-right here," Regina was saying as she emerged from the brush with Gold and Eric hot on her heels.

They stopped short as Hook-for that was who and what he truly was in his final moments, accepting the darker side of his personality as it finally merged with the idealistic lieutenant of his youth-ripped Pan's heart from his body with triumph. He sank back to the ground with a gasp, and Eric stepped forward, his expression stricken.

"Godddamit, Jones, what have you done?!" he demanded.

Hook laughed. He knew it was inappropriate, a sign that his time was nearly up, but he appreciated the irony. "Wanted...make up...for the rum," he sighed at his best friend. "Gave mine...away this morning." He laughed again and gazed at the others. "Emma?" he intoned.

"We couldn't find her," Gold admitted, his expression unreadable. "She and Mary-Margaret left for the ship with Henry already." He knelt by Hook, examining the wound in his chest. Their eyes met, and a short nod from Gold confirmed what Hook already knew.

"Pity," he sighed, wishing he might have been able to say goodbye, but glad to know she had her son again. He looked at Eric. "My ship," he said, eyeing him steadily. "Take it."

"Jones-"

Ignoring him, Hook moved to grasp Bae's hand again, and gazing into the boy's eyes, he breathed his last and went to join his Milah.

* * *

**A/N: Don't hurt me! There are two more chapters left. This fic ain't over yet! I have another holiday fic in the works, though, and I'm hosting family for Christmas this year, so the concluding chapters might not get written until after the holidays. Sorry! For anyone waiting on The House Boy, my sequel to The Yard Boy, it **_**is**_** currently being written, so look for that sometime after the holidays as well. Hopefully, I'll still have some readers left after this chapter. ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I hereby dedicate this chapter of my story to Lisa1972. I suspect, when she finishes, she will know why. :D**

* * *

Brushing her sleeping son's cheek, Emma smiled with affection and bent to kiss him again. She'd repeated these same gestures half a dozen times already, but she couldn't get enough of his presence. Having Henry snatched from her just as she had been getting to know the son she'd birthed so many years ago made Emma hyper aware of details she had not consciously catalogued before: his scent, the freckles on his skin, the way his hair fell over his face... She couldn't get enough. She never would. She might have missed out on the first eleven years of his life, but she intended to be there for the rest of them, to share in his life in a way she had never imagined doing until he had shown up on her doorstep the night of her twenty-eighth birthday.

A cacophony of footsteps thudded above, and she glanced at the ceiling. Voices rose and fell like waves, crashing together into an unintelligible muddle.

"The others must be back," her mother broke the silence.

"Yeah."

"I'll go up deck," Mary-Margaret offered. "You stay with Henry for a while."

She hesitated. "No," she decided. "Regina and Neal deserve to spend some time with him, too. We'll go up together. Wendy and Tootles can watch him."

"Emma, are you sure? They spent a long time with Pan."

"They were on the ship before we got here. If they were going to try anything, they would have sabotaged our ship or sailed away and stranded us already," she pointed out. "And Killian's willing to give them a chance. So should we." The name slipped from her lips before she gave it a second thought. _Shit_, thought Emma. _Shit_.

The weight of her mother's silence filled the cabin. Self-conscious at such reflexive use of the pirate's first name, Emma rushed on, "Besides, they don't dare try anything with Captain Hook, Rumplestiltskin _and_ Regina on board now."

"All right," Mary-Margaret sighed. "I'll go find them."

After they settled the two teenagers into the cabin with Henry, Emma woke her son briefly and explained the situation to him. Henry seemed happy enough at this turn of events, apparently having befriended both of the teenagers to some degree, and he sat up to regale them with knowledge of Storybrooke. Mary-Margaret seemed more reassured at this sight, and Emma followed her up to the top deck.

The minute she set foot on the uppermost deck, everything settled to silence, whatever commotion that had been brewing temporarily forgotten. Emma felt several sets of eyes on her, and realized that her father, Eric, and even _Regina_, were staring at her with sympathy. "What's going on?" she managed as an uneasy feeling began to build in the pit of her stomach. "Did we get Pan?" Her eyes swept the deck. "Where's Hook? In his cabin?"

David exchanged a glance with Eric.

"Yes," David finally answered, "but-"

"Is he okay?"

"No. No, he's not. Emma-"

But she had already bounded across the deck and flung the door to his cabin open.

"Emma, wait!" her father's voice echoed behind her as she clambered into the chamber. She stumbled down the steps and caught herself on a small table where a single lamp illumined the cabin with a soft glow. Killian lay motionless on a bed against the far wall of the room, and Emma closed the distance between them, sinking to her knees. Clasping his hand in hers, she furrowed her brow at the clamminess of his skin. "Killian?" she murmured into the stillness of the cabin. Was he feverish? Reaching forward to feel his forehead, she caught sight of the blood stains on his clothing.

She jerked away in horror as the pieces fell into place.

"No," she whimpered, willing it to be untrue, "no!"

"I tried to tell you," her father sighed from the doorway. "We didn't mean for you to find out like this."

"I don't understand. He _can't_ be dead. He _can't_." She reached forward, running her fingers through his hair, an act which she had always itched to do, but had never let herself indulge in. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_, she thought. _Coward._ She'd let fear rule her, cheat her out of the relationship she might have had with him if she'd only been brave enough to face the feelings that overwhelmed her now. "Killian," she sniffed, "Killian, please."

Her father's strong arms wrapped around her shoulders. "Come on, sweetheart. I'll explain up on deck. Everyone needs to hear this."

"No!" She shoved him away, sorrow evaporating in the face of rage. She couldn't go up there right now, maybe not ever, with the stares of concern and sympathy that made her skin crawl.

"All right," he agreed. And she listened, growing number with every word, as he explained the pirate's heroic death. "He died making certain Henry was safe," her father finished. "He'll get a proper funeral as soon as we get back to Storybrooke and make the arrangements."

"He was a sailor. He'd want a burial at sea," a voice murmured from the doorway. Emma looked up. Neal stood just outside the cabin, gazing at her uncertainly. "Emma," he began, "take a walk with me? Some fresh air might help. We need to talk."

"No!" she shouted, her anger returning full force. "I don't _want_ to talk to you, Neal," she grated. Her fingers clenched together as all her grief for Killian erupted onto his rival. "We talked enough this morning. We're _over_. We've been over since you left me alone and pregnant in a jail cell-"

"What?!" David exploded, his expression livid.

"-and then never bothered to look for me after the curse was broken!"

"Oof!" Neal fell backwards onto his ass, clutching at his bloodied nose.

"What the hell did you do to him?" she gaped at her father.

Charming shook his hand with a frown. "What should have been done a long time ago, from the sound of it." Wincing, he rubbed his sore hand.

Drawn by the commotion, the others crowded around outside the cabin door. "You hit my son?" Rumple said in disbelief, helping Neal to his feet again.

"It was well-deserved," Charming shot back.

"He's right, Pop," Neal muttered.

But Gold was not about to let it go. "Well-deserved?" he exclaimed sarcastically. "For trying to reunite his family and reconcile with his lost love?"

"He _abandoned_ his family!" Charming spat with disgust.

"And he returned," Rumple growled, "and risked his life to lure Pan out of hiding and give your daughter her son back!" He turned his steely gaze to Emma. "If not for him, your happy family wouldn't be complete."

"Is that so?" Regina spoke up, a hand on one hip. She tilted her head and shrugged. "Seems to me you have the pirate to thank for that. I was there, Gold. He gave his life, protecting _your_ son and _mine_ from Pan." Rumplestiltskin reared back as if he'd been slapped, but Regina continued, undeterred and clearly enjoying his reaction, "If not for _him_, your son wouldn't even be here right now." She smirked, twisting the dagger of her words even deeper. "Yes, the pirate who spend hundreds of years trying to kill you, Gold. Tell me, how does that feel?"

"Enough!" Mary-Margaret shouted. "I think we all need to calm down and-and give Emma her space to say goodbye. Fighting won't solve anything." She glanced at Eric. "Take us home, Captain. " The sailor nodded, his expression wooden, and returned to the helm. David followed at his heels, preparing to pull anchor. Glancing at Emma in sympathy, Tink joined them, to open a portal with her newly recovered magic.

Mary-Margaret moved to follow the others as they filed away in silence, but Emma called after her, "Wait!" The other woman turned in askance, clearly ready to aid Emma in whatever way possible. "Stay with me, please...Mom?"

Tears filled Mary-Margaret's eyes. With obvious effort to control her own emotions, she enfolded Emma in a hug. "Of course."

They descended into the shadowed chamber, hands clasped together, and Emma stood stock-still for several moments, staring at Killian's lifeless form again. Her mother stood next to her in silence, ready to lend her whatever strength she could muster, and for that Emma was profoundly grateful, for she had never felt so empty and tired in her entire life. Clutching her mother like the lifeline that she was, Emma tried to clear her thoughts, but regret and grief replayed the day's events like a maddening echo that she couldn't banish. The conversation she'd tried to have with Hook. The conversation she had had with Neal instead. Their decision to use the Dark Mirror. Her pitiful farewell to Killian-

"The mirror," she whispered suddenly. "I need the Dark Mirror."

"Emma," her mother said warningly. "No."

"You said it can be used to talk to the dead," she said feverishly. "I see him one last time, tell him what I feel-"

"EMMA!" her mother said, grasping her by the shoulders. "Listen to yourself! The Dark Mirror already stole the memories of Regina's magic. She could have gotten killed! We could have lost Henry!" She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "I will not let you use that evil thing."

"Mom-"

"No. _No_, Emma." The princess sniffed, her face blotchy and red. "I've never had a chance to be a mother to you, because you grew up without me, and then you were an adult and you never needed it, before. But I will not let you do this, Emma. So help me God, as your mother, I will _not_ let you do this. I won't let you take the chance that the mirror kills you, too!" She took a deep breath. "Or," she whispered with a pained look on her face, "take the chance that it steals your memories of Killian, of your love."

It was the last sentence that broke her. Emma sank to the floor, unable to hold back her tears any longer. Her mother held her for a time, until the numbness returned and Emma was no longer able to cry. Exhausted, she sat on the floor for a while, staring across the cabin at the man she had changed her so much, given her so much, without ever placing pressure on her to return his feelings.

"I don't know what to say," she finally said, some time later, interrupting the silence that permeated the cabin. "How do you say goodbye to someone who's already gone?" Her voice quavered despite her best efforts to remain stoic, and her mother looked at her in sympathy. She rose to her feet, her mother following suit.

"They say," Snow began softly, "that the spirit lingers for a time after a person dies." She smiled encouragingly. "Tell him how you feel, Emma. Tell him you loved him. I'm sure he can hear you." She gave her daughter a gentle shove forward and moved to a corner of the cabin, settling down to wait from a distance.

Emma took a deep breath and took another step forward. Her mother made it sound so simple. But talking about feelings had never come with such difficulty to Snow White as it had to Emma. Snow had never had to navigate through life with walls thicker and taller than the Great Wall, just to survive.

Killian had understood those walls, she thought, kneeling next to the pirate's lifeless body. Understood and somehow slipped behind them. How morbidly ironic, she reflected, that the one person who would have been able to help her with a task of this nature was the one that had died.

"I'm not good at this," she whispered to him, "you know that." She laughed shortly. "But it never mattered to you, did it? You knew everything about me anyway, from the moment we climbed that beanstalk." She paused, trying to control her emotions, lest she break down entirely and lose the power of speech before she could finish her farewell. "I'm sorry I abandoned you on the beanstalk. I should have told you that the day we talked about it, but...I-I couldn't get the words out. I know it hurt you, hurt both of us, even if it was necessary. I just wanted to get back to my son, make sure he was safe." She swallowed around the enormous lump that had formed in her throat. "But you made sure of that, didn't you? Made sure Pan will never harm him again. I should have trusted you, let you help me protect him the first time. Maybe you wouldn't be gone."

She sighed, reaching over to stroke his hair a final time. "How can you be gone, Killian?" she said, her voice trembling as tears threatened once more. "How? You left me. I-I thought...I didn't think you'd leave me again, not after all we've been through." She buried her face in his neck, ignoring the rough scrape of his stubble against her face. "So you can't be gone, you just can't. You can't abandon me like this," she told him hopelessly, her voice muffled. "I love you," she sniffed as hot tears spilled from her eyes and soaked into his skin. "I love you, Killian."

Wrapping her arms over his still body, she broke down sobbing in a way that she had not let herself do since she was a toddler and her adopted parents had returned her to the orphanage.

"Emma!" her mother gasped suddenly, interrupting her daughter's mourning. "Emma, look!"

But Emma felt the miracle a split second before her mother spoke, as magic left her body and a warm breeze blew through the cabin. Air heaved into the pirate's lungs. She felt his chest rise and fall in an uneven shudder, and she pulled away in confusion. The wound on Killian's chest was knitting shut with rapid speed. In the space of seconds, it was almost as if it had never been there at all, save for the ugly scar that was left behind.

Backing away quickly, Emma turned to her mother in fright. "What's going on?" she demanded. "Who's doing this?"

"You are," her mother whispered in awe. "I think you are."

"But-he was dead," she said woodenly. "Magic can't bring back the dead."

"Not normal magic," Snow said with a smile. "But yours has always been special, Emma. You're the Savior. _You_ are special." Embracing her daughter, she pushed her away slightly. "Go. He's starting to stir."

Emma knelt by her pirate and waited with tentative eagerness, not quite willing to place all her hope in what might be a cruel dream. But the hand that she clasped in her own felt warmer with each moment, and the spark of hope inside her grew with a slow steadiness as Killian stirred restlessly. His eyes fluttered at last, opening only halfway, before they closed again, and for one terror-filled moment, Emma thought she was losing him all over again. His breathing continued, however, steady and strong. Relieved, she kissed the sleeping pirate on the cheek. The whys and reasons of it didn't matter, she realized. Somehow, he'd come back to her.

And that was all that mattered.

* * *

The door to the Captain's quarters opened, and Rumplestiltskin stepped through, shutting the door behind him as he stepped on deck again. "He is alive," he confirmed. His expression exuded a storm of emotions that Emma couldn't hope to interpret in a thousand years, but it was clear that joy was not among them.

"How?" Regina demanded with a scowl.

"Well," Rumple said with an indifferent shrug, as he strolled across the deck toward them, "if I had to guess, I'd say Miss Swan's unusual magic was the culprit." He sat down on a barrel and laced his fingers together. "Being the product of true love, her magic has always been innate to her being. Almost inseparable from her, really. That's why Cora couldn't take her heart. Emma was protected, down to the very last fiber of her being, by her parent's love for each other and for her."

"So you're telling me that an accident of birth is responsible for this?" Regina said sarcastically. "Not even True Love's Kiss can do what she just did, but somehow her magic, which she's barely had any training for, brought back the dead?"

Rumple eyed her with a smirk. "Jealous, dearie?"

Furious, Regina's hands curled into fists. She stalked away without a word, disappearing belowdecks to join Neal in watching over Henry. Rumple smirked, and Emma got the distinct feeling he'd just wreaked his revenge on the queen for needling him earlier.

"That was uncalled for," Snow said, glancing toward the hatch where Regina had disappeared, as if she wanted to follow after her stepmother.

"What I don't understand," Emma said, before another fight erupted, "is how my magic could be responsible for this. It didn't bring back Graham when he died."

"Ah," Rumple said with a tilt of his head, "but did you love him, dearie?"

She felt her cheeks grow warm, and she knew, even without the tell-tale tingling of her skin, that several sets of eyes watched her. Emma hadn't told anyone the full details of what had occurred in that cabin, and her mother, the sole witness, hadn't offered any, either. "I-I don't-" she stuttered, and she grew warmer still. "I had feelings for him," she admitted awkwardly.

"I see," Rumple said, one corner of his mouth lifting into a sarcastic smile. "Well, Miss Swan, I suspect mere 'feelings,' as you put it, weren't enough to spur your magic into action."

"What-what do you mean?"

"It would appear magic such as yours is a living thing, with an awareness that enables it to act of its own volition. It would explain the reaction it had to Cora's attempt to remove your heart. It felt threatened, and so it acted. In the pirate's case..." He crossed his arms. "Well, who knows, exactly? But it acted on its own, perhaps in response to your grief, without your control or guidance, and reached through the barrier between life and death to bring him back."

"Will it do this sort of thing again?" She felt her father's hand settle on her shoulder reassuringly. "Can-can I learn to control it?"

"Well, now," Rumple said, leaning forward a little, "that depends."

"On what?" she demanded.

"Whether your magic ever comes back."

"I don't understand."

Rumplestiltskin stood up and crossed the deck to her, pressing his thumb against her forehead. "You haven't a drop of it left, dearie. It's gone. Spent itself completely to bring back the pirate." He smiled without warmth, removing his thumb. "All magic comes with a price, remember? It burned itself out."

Emma thought fast. "But you said it was inseparable from me."

"Almost, dearie. I said 'almost'."

"Well...it...this doesn't seem like such a bad price to pay," she managed after a moment. "Lots of people live without magic. I'll just be normal, now. Like other people."

"Ah, but you were never meant for normal, were you? That's not who you are, who you were fated to be. Magic has always been a part of your being. You've never been without its presence, even when you were unaware that you had it. It's made you who you are. How many parts of yourself has it influenced and guided to shape you into who and what you are, as Savior? Don't fool yourself, dearie. Things will be different now. So will you."

Silence settled over the deck at this pronouncement, and her parents folded her into a hug, whispering reassurances and doses of the eternal optimism that she had often faulted them for. Emma bobbed her head in response, but as they moved away to give her some privacy, she shivered-and knew that it wasn't due to the wind.

* * *

**A/N: Only one more chapter until this fic is concluded! I hope you liked this one. I've had this part planned for a while, and it's nice to finally see it in print. I've loved all the Tangled parallels that fellow shippers have spotted with Emma and Killian, and I've wanted to write my own version of the Tangled ending, particularly since I'm unconvinced the show will ever go there. *sad face* **

**On a brighter note, I discovered a CS fan video on youtube just prior to writing this, by LegendaryDreamer, or MissJessieBan, which encompasses this chapter quite nicely. It's called "Love Don't Die." Needless to say, I listened to it frequently, while writing this. :D I encourage you all to look it up and go watch it a couple hundred times. Like Emma and Killian, it's pure magic.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Wow, 86 follows for this story! Thank you so much to everyone who reads, follows, reviews, and favorites this tale! I really do appreciate it! **

Killian felt the dull pound of a headache before he even opened his eyes. Scrubbing at his forehead reflexively, he grunted. _Gods_, he thought vaguely, _how much rum did I drink last night? _His eyes felt like leaden weights when he tried to pry them open, and he almost gave up altogether. But duty to his ship and the thought of what Milah might devise to torture him if he missed his turn on deck spurred him to face the day, however nasty it might shape up to be.

But the stark whiteness of the strange chamber he found himself in made him uneasy. The four walls of the chamber were close, almost claustrophobic, and he wondered what manner of cell this was. _I might have been better sleeping this one off, _he decided, taking in the assortment of long tubes and bandages that were respectively attached to and wound around him. He sat up, puzzling over the strange, uncomfortable bed in which he had been lying. Clutching at his aching head with his sole hand, he wondered where his hook was.

"Killian."

He turned toward the unfamiliar voice, trying to clear his thoughts. A woman with long, curling locks of golden hair leaned forward in her chair beside his bed. Her green eyes sparkled with the fire of emeralds, and his gaze lingered on them. She smiled, brushing her fingertips through his hair, and Killian thought vaguely that its brilliance could have melted glaciers. If he had been in any other situation, if he wasn't devoted to his Milah, he might have matched her smile with a devastating grin of his own and urged her to apply the stroke of those fingers to other parts of his anatomy.

But this woman knew his name. His real name. And her manner with him was familiar, even intimate, though he could not for the life of him determine who she was.

He wanted answers.

"Who are you?" he demanded, voice cracking from the dryness of his throat. She paused, her fingers retreating from his hair. A vague sense of regret rippled through him in response, disconcerting him because he didn't know why or where it came from.

"What?" she faltered. She drew back into her chair, her smile evaporating.

"Where's my ship? What have you done with Milah?"

Her expression shifted from confused to hopeless. "Killian-"

He growled, "How do you know my name?"

"You told it to me," she whispered, a tear trickling down her cheek. She looked away, down at the floor, folding her hands together. "You also said you don't favor being called 'Hook'."

"Why would I have done that?" he retorted suspiciously. "Who are you?" he repeated.

She swallowed. "Emma. My name is Emma Swan." She stood up, her expression defeated. "I'm going to get the doctor now." Opening a door, she slipped out of the room and disappeared from sight.

A tall man wearing a long white coat entered his room after a while, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. His hair was blond, cropped close to his scalp, and he watched Killian over the top of a small sheaf of papers bound to a piece of rectangular wood. "Miss Swan tells me you are experiencing some memory loss."

"My memory is fine," he argued. "Where the bloody hell am I? Where is my ship? And what have you bastards done with Milah?"

The man sat down on a chair with wheels and scooted across the room toward Killian. He stopped near the bed with a frown. "My name is Dr. Whale. And your ship is in the harbor, where you always keep it. And you're in a hospital because you were...injured quite extensively."

He contemplated the stranger's words, wondering whether he could trust them. He couldn't imagine what motivation the other man might have for lying to him, but guessing would be useless without more information about these people or what their motivations were. "And Milah?"

The stranger inhaled. "Listen, what's the last thing you remember before you woke up here?"

"Humor me," he added as Killian opened his mouth to argue again.

Sifting through the jumble of thoughts in his head, Killian tried to recall what he had been doing prior to his captivity. "I remember strong winds. My ship, my crew. Shouting at Milah to get below deck when a sudden squall hit us."

"How did you injure your arm?" the physician prodded, gesturing to the stump at the end of his left arm. "Do you remember that?"

"No." The admission frightened him, for he knew with a certainty that the injury was old. The sight of his handless arm upon awakening had been as familiar to him as the sound of his given name-though Milah had been the only one to use it since Liam's death. The fact that the Swan woman seemed to know it, to use it with such affection...

"Do you remember anything else?"

"A boy," he answered after a moment.

The doctor looked up at this, interest sparking in his eyes. "Oh? What does he look like?"

"Dark hair. Young. Maybe as old as thirteen."

"Interesting," the doctor murmured with a frown. He crossed his arms. "Anything else?"

Killian shook his head.

"Hook-" The physician consulted his sheaf of papers again. "Or do you prefer 'Killian'?"

He fixed the other man with a cold gaze. "You may address me as Captain," he ordered, unwilling to permit the physician the familiarity of using his given name, yet reluctant to be addressed by his absent appendage.

"Well, then, _Cap'n_," the other man emphasized, his lips twitching in amusement, "I'm sorry to say, despite your protests to the contrary, Miss Swan is correct. You are indeed suffering from memory loss. It's difficult to say how extensive without running tests, but-"

"And Milah?" he pressed, determined that the physician should not forget his promise to disclose her whereabouts.

Dr. Whale pursed his lips together briefly, his brow creasing in concern. "I am afraid she died about three hundred years ago, Captain," he finally answered. "I am told you lost your hand in the incident involving her."

Dazed, unwilling to believe the doctor's words, he only half heard the doctor's explanation that memory loss wasn't unheard of when the brain had been deprived of oxygen for a period of time. "No!" he interrupted after a moment. "No," he seethed. Killian surged forward and grabbed the bastard by the collar of his strange white cloak. "I will not be lied to!" he raged. "Where is she?"

"Nurse!" the doctor shouted, turning his head toward the door. He wrestled Killian back onto the bed, grunting with effort. "Get me a sedative!" he snapped at the woman who dashed into the room. "_Now_!"

She dashed away.

Killian struggled to reassert his advantage over the doctor, but it was nearly impossible without his hook, and his other arm pinned down. They struggled some more, and the nurse reappeared, deftly handing the doctor a small dagger with a long, impossibly thin blade.

_It'll break_, he thought with derision just before he felt a sharp prick in his neck. He blinked several times and slumped back into the bed, dazed.

"This job really sucks sometimes," Killian heard the physician snap in frustration.

Moments later, everything faded to black.

It was dark when he awoke next, a thin sliver of evening sky visible through the curtains on the wall to his right. A man with black hair and eyes like chipped ice sat next to his bed, his expression pensive. "Rejoining the world again, Jones?" he asked.

"Sod off," he growled.

"Is that any way to speak to an old friend?" the stranger replied with an amused, almost confident smile.

"I don't have friends."

He laughed softly. "So you always say. But tell me, Jones, what captain leaves the care of his beloved ship in the hands of an enemy when he's about to die?"

Killian cursed at the other man. "I don't know who the hell you are," he managed, and a light went out in the other man's eyes, replaced by concern and disappointment, "but I bloody well wouldn't have given you the Jolly Roger!"

"It's true, then," he murmured. He shook his head, looking tired. "My name is Eric." He frowned. "Look, Jones. I came by to tell you your ship is in good hands until you're ready to Captain her again." He paused, looking thoughtful. "I am sorry this has reopened old wounds, mate. Losing Milah all over again-"

"I am not your mate," he retorts with a snap. "And what do you know about it, anyway?"

"We _are_ mates," Eric disagrees calmly. "Best mates. And one day, Jones, I will get you to admit that. As for the other...I know more than you might think."

Killian considered several replies, but discarded all of them. Anything he said would only encourage this irritating man. Though how he knew that was a puzzle that Killian struggled to solve. He didn't recognize this stranger, nor his name, but there was something about the way he spoke to Killian, as if every word were carefully thought out and designed to get under his skin, that felt like a worn-out path; a road that had been travelled countless times before.

And gods help him, he trusted the man, though he couldn't recall a single reason he should do so.

"Listen-" He hesitated, struggling to remember the name the stranger had given.

"Eric."

"Eric, then," he said. "Is it true?"

The dark-haired man watched him for a moment with a contemplative expression. "Yes, it's true. Milah is gone."

His words hummed with truth. Killian went limp against the bed, exhausted. "When?" he breathed, his voice almost a whimper.

"Long before we met, I'm afraid. I never knew her."

"How do you know of her, then?"

"Your crew. Word gets around." He paused, as if uncertain whether to proceed. "But I recognized the loss in you before I ever learned her name or your story. Like gravitates to like, they say. Perhaps the same is true for recognizing pain." He shifted restlessly in the chair. "Then again, you and I have always been more like each other than we've ever cared to admit, Jones. Maybe that's how I knew."

"And...the other things? Are they true as well?"

"You'll have to be more specific; I'm afraid I wasn't present for your conversation with the doctor."

"Has it been over three hundred years? How is that possible? I should be dead."

Eric's jaw tensed for a moment, as if Killian said something that touched a nerve. "It's been over three hundred years, yes," he confirmed. "As for how that's possible, well, that's a long story, and I don't know the whole of it. But if not for the impossible, we'd have never met." He slanted a look at Killian. "And you certainly wouldn't be alive."

Killian sensed that this, too, was the truth. Yet he knew instinctively that it wasn't the whole of it. Something was being concealed, left unsaid. "There's something you are not telling me."

Eric snorted softly, an amused smile lighting his face again. "There's a lot I'm not telling you, Jones. Doctor's orders. After the upset this morning, we're not to overwhelm you with information. Whale wants to see if the memories come back on their own, given a little time."

Shifting in his bed, Killian sighed. What he wouldn't give for a drink right now.

"Here."

He turned his head toward Eric.

The other man shook a flask at him, as if he'd read Killian's mind. "You look like you could use a nip."

He blinked. "How did you know?"

"As I said," Eric smiled, "best mates."

"Rum?" a female voice sighs. "In a hospital? _Really_?"

"Emma," Eric greeted the blonde woman from earlier that morning. "Close the door and join us."

She eyed Killian, then shifted her gaze to Eric. "Actually, could you give us a moment?"

He stood up. "Certainly. I should get back to the Jolly Roger anyway." He thrust the flask into Killian's hands. "Don't worry," he grinned. "I'll be back to wear out my welcome tomorrow." Scooting past Emma, he disappeared from the room, shutting the door behind him with a click.

"Better hide that so the nurses don't confiscate it," she said in the awkward silence that followed.

"Perhaps," he answered, unscrewing the cap. "But not before I've had a drink." He took a swallow of the liquid, appreciating the burn as it slid down his throat. Yes, this was familiar. At least something was. Taking another long drink, he held the flask out to her on impulse. "Care for a nip, yourself?"

"Yeah," she said after some hesitation. "I would." She stepped toward him and took the proffered flask, fingers brushing against his lightly. She took a long drink, her eyes closing in an expression that was almost euphoric.

Killian smiled despite himself. So the woman enjoyed her drink. He had always admired a lass that could hold her liquor. Would she be able to out-drink him, if he challenged her? Milah had never quite managed to do so, he thought with a sharp stab of sadness and renewed loss. And she'd never been a lightweight with alcohol, either.

Emma watched him as she walked around the foot of his bed to the chair. Taking another drink, she handed the flask back to Killian and sat down.

He stared at the flask in consternation, turning it over in his hands. "We've done this before, haven't we?" he asked suddenly, struck by a strong sense of repetition.

She looked away. Her nod was almost imperceptible. "Yeah."

He tucked the flask behind his pillow, considering this. "I'm sorry I can't remember."

The silence stretched for so long that he thought she simply wasn't going to answer. "Me too," she said, in a whisper so soft he almost didn't catch it at all.

Leaning back, he fixed his gaze on the ceiling. He had no idea what he was supposed to say to her. He suspected their relationship was close, based on her behavior, but he had no idea what the exact status was. And he wasn't particularly interested in figuring it out at the moment, he decided wearily. His memories, his loss of Milah, were too sharp, too fresh for that.

He eyed her sidelong. But she wanted something, or she wouldn't be here. "If you're wanting to talk, love, by all means, don't be shy."

She peered at him with a frown. "Excuse me?"

"Well, any woman who would run her fingers through a man's hair must feel fairly comfortable with him," he pointed out. "So tell me what's on your mind."

She inhaled deeply. "Once...I knew a man named Graham."

His eyes narrowed a fraction. It cost her, to speak those words. He was as certain of it as his own name. "Go on."

"He was...we were..."

"Intimate?"

"No," she answered, her voice cracking with emotion. "No, not exactly." Her fingers fidgeted with something wrapped around her wrist, and he leaned over, trying to get a better look. Was she injured? He watched as her fingers twined in and out of...boot laces? Puzzled, he waited for her to continue.

"I just...I want you to know that I know what it feels like to lose someone," she said at last. Her expression was guarded, but he knew somehow that it wouldn't take much to break through that guard and make her acknowledge all the emotion that she clearly tried to hold back. "Someone you cared about. To have them taken from you suddenly-" She broke off, descending into silence again.

He watched her for several moments. There was more to the story about this Graham person, he was certain of it.

She stood up. "I'm sorry about Milah."

"Likewise about Graham," he returned.

She nodded. "Good night."

He watched her walk to the door. "You'll be back tomorrow?" he found himself asking.

Turning, she offered him an uncertain smile. "Maybe."

"Someone has to rescue me from Eric's ill attempts at witty conversation," he responds. And he could tell by the return of her brilliant smile that he pleased her somehow with his words.

"I'm your knight in shining armor," she promised, slipping out the door.

The door clicked shut. Killian leaned his head against the pillows, thoughtful. _Emma_, he thought. _Emma_, he repeated to himself, determined to fix it in his mind again. She had called him Killian. No one called him that anymore. What was she to him? What was he to her?

He was determined to find out.

**A/N: And there it is. That's the end, the last chapter intended for this fic. I've always intended for this fic to have at least one sequel, and based on how things panned out with Killian losing some of his memories, I think there may have to be three of them. The second one will concentrate heavily on the restoration of Killian's memory, which means that the third fic will have to be about whether or not Emma gets her magic back.**

**Alternately, however, I can simply continue the story as one epically long fic instead of three separate ones. I'd have to alter the title and description a bit to fit better, but it could be done. Let me know what you prefer!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Well, as you can see from the new posting, I've decided to write all three arcs under one long fic. I read all your comments and thought about it, and what it really came down to was the fact that it will just be easier for me to write one long fic that mirrors the tie-in fic with Ariel and Eric. That way, I won't be sifting through three different fics to find the references and events I need to build upon and include in their story. **

**Just a quick note: there has been a time jump at this point in the fic, but don't worry, I'll go back and fill in some of the previous events later, so you know exactly what happened for it all to arrive at this scene. :) So if you feel like you've missed a chapter...you haven't, not exactly. We just haven't filled in those gaps yet. Enjoy!**

* * *

The Rabbit Hole was crowded. _Small wonder on a Friday night_, Emma thought, pushing her way through the sea of people as she made a beeline for the bar. Thank God she wasn't on duty tonight. Occupancy violations be damned. It wasn't her problem. She was here for one reason and one reason only: to get absolutely, undeniably drunk out of her mind.

Music blared from the speakers at migraine-inducing decibels, and somewhere, hidden from her sight, people were cutting loose on the dance floor. Emma ignored all of this and shouldered herself into an empty space at the bar. Standing room only tonight, it appeared, if the lack of bar stools was any indication. Just great. "Can I get a double shot of tequila?" she shouted at the bartender, waving to get his attention over the loud music.

A patron shifted next to her, and Emma found Prince Eric peering down at her. "Emma," he said, raising an empty tumbler in greeting. He turned away again, his expression distracted and despondent. The bartender set Emma's shot on the bar in front of her, and Eric gestured wordlessly to his glass. The bartender promptly refilled his tumbler, and Emma watched with a raised eyebrow as the sailor knocked back the glass of bourbon in one long gulp.

"What's the matter?" she asked sardonically. "Lost your taste for rum?"

Antagonism sparked in his icy blue eyes. He set his glass own on the counter with a thump. A few nearby patrons looked over at them, but after a measured, awkward silence, they returned to their own cares. "I don't know. You tell me," he responded in a quiet voice, his tone all too serious and completely unlike his usual good humor.

She stiffened. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what you think it means," he returned, gesturing at the bartender for another bourbon. Emma wondered how many the prince had already imbibed. "You haven't visited him for a week."

She downed her shot of tequila and sighed. "Since when is it any of your business?" she bit back, her tone harsh from the surge of guilt and self-loathing that threatened to drown her.

"Since you made him so goddamned miserable!" he exclaimed with a soft snort. "Do you have any idea what it's like to live with a moody, confused pirate?" The bartender handed him another bourbon, and he cradled it in his hand, eyeing her with something akin to disappointment. He took a drink.

"It's been six weeks," she whispered. "Nothing's changed. He doesn't remember me or anything about the beanstalk or Neverland-"

"That's a pathetic excuse, now isn't it?"

She stared at him, too stunned and angry to respond for several heartbeats. "Screw you!" He barked a short laugh and took another drink. "I don't see you walking your ass over to see Ariel," she attacked. "In fact," she warmed up to the subject, "I see a lot of you slinking away when she's in the same room as you." His eyes flashed, the muscles in his face becoming tense with barely restrained temper. "What's the matter? The handicapped make you uncomfortable?"

She'd gone too far. She knew it when she saw his hand clench the half-empty tumbler of bourbon until his knuckles turned white. But she'd had a long week, screwed up too many calls and cases, and butted heads with Regina just one too many times to exercise caution or good judgment. "Don't tell me about pathetic excuses," she finished, seething inside.

Glass shattered against the wall behind the bar, spraying bourbon everywhere. Eric let loose a string of curse words that left even Emma, with all her casualness about language, staring in shock. "I don't have a problem with her goddamned legs!"

The bar fell silent, and Emma felt the eyes of every single patron staring at them.

Eric turned to her, his eyes crackling like bolts of lightning, the expression on his face livid. "But I do have a problem with hypocrites." He leaned toward her. His breath reeked of alcohol. "So let's make deal, shall we? I'll talk to Ariel when you tell that goddamned pirate you're in love with him." He smiled without warmth. "Let's see who the real coward is." Slapping a large amount of money on the counter, Eric apologized to the bartender for his mess and the disturbance, swept Emma a challenging look, and left the bar.

A fierce slew of gossip rolled through the bar the moment the door banged closed, and Emma ground her teeth together in frustration. Pirate or sailor, they were all irritating asses, she decided. No wonder Eric and Killian had become such good friends during their years in Neverland. Each of them specialized, in his own way, in getting under one's skin.

"You okay?" the bartender asked after a moment.

"Yeah. Fine," she answered shortly. "He's just wound up and had too much to drink."

"Want me to get him a cab?"

"No. He lives down at the docks. And he doesn't know how to drive anyway." A fact for which she was profoundly grateful, even amidst her anger with the prince. She'd always heard about the cursing and drinking a sailor could do, but she'd never witnessed it before until tonight. And from Eric, of all people. She never would have suspected him capable of...well, _any_ of the way he'd been behaving tonight.

Chalking it up to alcohol, she ordered another double shot of tequila. After that little scene with the prince, she was more determined than ever to get screaming drunk. Eric wasn't the only one looking to forget his pain tonight. Emma would find oblivion tonight, come hell or high water, and if that meant a killer hangover the next day, well...screw it. Henry was with Regina this week anyway.

"I'll show you who the coward is," she muttered darkly, accepting the shot from the bartender. She downed it in one gulp.

But tonight, she would drink.

* * *

**A/N: I'm not sure whom I feel sorrier for at the end of this chapter: Emma or Eric. I think they both need hugs and a lot of strong coffee. Life is treating them both kind of rough. We'll see a lot more about what is going on with Eric in his fic, which I hope to begin writing as soon as I can come up with a good title for the fic I want to do. Keep your eyes peeled for it!**


End file.
